lost stars
by captainkillianhjones
Summary: a range of oneshots of hook and emma
1. bed & breakfast

_a small post-4x02 oneshot_

-/-

She can barely remember the events of the day before, a rush of ice, are you okay?, and blankets appearing behind her eyelids. It's only when she feels what she's lying on shift does she begin to recall a few finer details.

And it turns out what she's lying on is a certain pirate.

His eyes are closed; eyebrows furrowed the slightest giving her the urge to smoothen the crinkled skin out. (She remembers the urgency in his voice as he yells Emma! and can only imagine the concern and worry etched onto his handsome face, kind of like this, only multiplied – by a thousand) She does try to reach for him but is blocked by the multiple layers of blankets that have been wrapped around her.

She notices they're on the couch instead of her bed, and memories of the night before and her evident stubbornness of not needing help getting to her room plays in her head, only to have Killian huff at her before scooping her up and placing her gingerly on the couch, mumbling something along the lines of 'If you won't let me carry you to bed, then you're bloody sleeping on the couch.'

He stirs at the small movement, and when his bright blue eyes open to hers of olive, his lips tilt upward into a soft smile. She wriggles her arms out of her cotton barriers unceremoniously, causing an amused chuckle to escape from his lips. When she's finally free, her hand moves up to thumb his lip, and just like everything else with them, he takes her lead, waiting for her to lean in before he does.

(She appreciates that he lets her decide where they stand, but sometimes she just wishes he'd make the first move and just kiss her)

She presses her lips softly against his, drawing back to see him grinning even wider.

"Morning," she murmurs, her lips just a breath away from his.

"Morning, love."

She feels something shift beneath her, and only then realizes she's been sleeping on his arm the entire night. "Shit, sorry," she grimaces at the numbness he'd probably be feeling.

She lifts her body up the slightest, allowing him to slide his arm from underneath her, and he does, only to move his hand to thumb her bottom lip in return.

"Good to see the two of you awake."

He jumps out from the moment and straight onto his feet at the voice of her mother. She musters the energy to sit up, peeking over the back of their makeshift bed to find her mother distributing the scrambled eggs from the frying pan onto the various plates set on the table. Her father sits at the head of it, her younger brother in one arm and a bottle in the other.

"Breakfast is ready."

She turns to face Killian, and there's a sudden awkwardness there. She notices him shuffling nervously on his feet, his hand moving subconsciously to scratch the part behind his ear in a gesture she's grown fond of.

"You feeling better, lass?" he asks her genuinely and she nods. He seems content with her answer. "Well, I've overstayed my welcome, and I wouldn't wish to intrude further, so I'll be off," he announces. "Say the word, and I'll be right back here," he turns back to Emma, giving her a slight nod before moving to turn towards the door.

"Wait! You can stay!" both her and her mother say at the same time, and she looks over at her with squinting eyes.

Her father's the one to speak up for her. "Stay for breakfast – after all you've done for us and Emma, the least we could do is offer you some food." She watches as her father bows his head down the slightest in a show of understanding, and she's shocked to say the least. Who knew a pirate and a prince could be mates?

(Then again, who'd think the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, and a pirate would fall- like each other either?)

With a glance in Emma's direction, her giving him a hopeful look, he agrees, though waits for her to unravel herself from the layers of warmth and as usual, for her to lead the way towards the table.

He settles slowly to her left, and she can't help her hand that moves to find his under the table. He glances at her, raising an eyebrow in question, and she murmurs a 'my hand's are still cold' as an excuse, but he doesn't complain, simply smirking softly at her. It's not his usual innuendo-filled smirk, instead, it's soft and almost sweet.

She lets go of his hand reluctantly when they begin to eat, and she finds it adorable how he's adapted some forms of modern technology, yet still has a confused look on his face when poking his fork at his bacon.

"It's good, trust me," she leans towards him and whispers the words.

And that's all he needs for him to try it.

Her and both her parents look at him expectantly, gauging for his reaction as he chews on it.

"This tastes bloody unhealthy!" he exclaims, and the rest of them try to hide their smiles. "But it's bloody delicious at the same time."

He gives her a toothy grin, and she replies by shoving a spoonful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.

His hand finds hers again while he chews, and maybe he's right after all, she could get used to appreciating the quiet moments.

-/-


	2. hook for a hand

She opens the door to see him standing there, an arm behind his back and head bowed the slightest. He's gotten rid of his usual pirate garb, opting for the same look, only just a little bit more modern.

"Swan," he greets with a soft smile, and he procures a single rose for her.

She takes it wordlessly, still stunned by his new look, and she's speechless to say the least. He's probably wearing the same amount of leather as he usually does, but the jacket, the pants and the vest, it makes her thoughts jumble and she can't seem to find the right words to say.

"Didn't he have a hook for a hand?"

Elsa's failed whisper pulls her out of her trance, and only then does she notice. She glances from the rose to his left hand over and over again, her eyes blinking in confusion and she looks to his face for answers.

He smirks.

"I didn't realize the whole entourage was going to be greeting me," Killian teases, making a move to enter the apartment. She steps back, allowing him to enter and he's greeted with a range of faces.

They move to stand next to each other, facing her parents and her newfound friend; her father's arms are crossed, her mother's face mirroring Elsa's (and probably her own) in a look of surprise.

She still hasn't spoken a word, much too stunned to form a coherent sentence. Instead, she places the rose gently on the table by the door, her movement being carefully watched by Killian.

"You clean up well," Snow says impressed, while her husband still glares hard at Killian, executing the protective father role to perfection. Elsa on the other hand, nods in agreement.

"Thank you, milady," he bows his head marginally with an all too polite smile before turning to face Emma. "Shall we, love?"

She shakes herself out of her continued trance and manages a smile. "Yeah," she's able to croak out, and the smug look on his face tells her how pleased he is with her reaction.

He fits in a nod in her father's direction, and through her peripheral vision, she sees that it's reciprocated, before holding his arm out for her, (I'm always a gentleman) and getting a final smile of encouragement from both her mother and Elsa, she takes it.

"Don't stay out too late!" David adds in quickly before they shut the door behind them.

She wants to ask about his hand, wants to know the story, but he cuts in before she can.

"The date," he says cheerfully, leading her down the hallway and down the stairs, a large smile and bright eyes on his face.

She can ask him later.

-/-

She asks him after they've found their seats and received their menus in the restaurant by docks that he booked himself (he tells her that with pride, and her heart swells at the look on his face).

"Are you going to tell me how you got it back?" she springs on him, and for a moment, his smile falters, but he recovers quickly, sending her a too-large grin, that's on the fence between real and fake.

"You don't like it?" he asks coolly, flexing his left hand for her to see. He stares at it longer than he should before turning to her, and she can sense something's off.

"I like you just as much with the hook," she says seriously. "How?"

He scratches his left ear with his left hand and she wonders how long it's been since he's done that. "Gold."

"And he just did it like that?"

He chuckles hollowly, "All magic does comes with a price, love."

Her heart sinks at that. "Which is?" she dares ask, and his eyes flicker back up to hers, accompanied by a twitch of his lips.

"It's only temporary, of course." He glances back down, his hand fiddling with the zipper of his new jacket. "You'll be getting your one-handed pirate back in no time," he gives her a lopsided grin.

"Then why'd you do it?" she asks softly, already having an idea of his answer.

"I just wanted to- I don't know… I just wanted to hold you with both hands," he says, stumbling over his words.

She reaches over the table and pulls his left hand into both of hers. "When do you…" she trails off, unsure of which words to use.

"When do I lose it again?" he finishes the sentence for her, and she nods quietly. "When the—"

They're interrupted when Will from the day before barges into the restaurant. He looks frantically around the place and when he finally spots her he jogs over to them, panting by the time he reaches her. She's still holding Killian's hand and she's reminded of what he's interrupting, and she really has the urge to punch him hard in the face. She doesn't even know how he'd managed to find her since it doesn't look like Killian had told anyone of their whereabouts for the night – for this exact reason.

"The bloody ice lady!" he exclaims once he's caught his breath, and Emma raises an eyebrow in question, telling him to elaborate. "She's just frozen Little John! Ice! Frozensolid!"

She glances at Killian and to the hand she's still holding. He nods, saying, "There's time," in a low voice, for only her to hear.

She looks longingly at the menu that she's yet to look through and the food on the other customers' tables, but gets up anyway, huffing immaturely.

"Right then – let's go."

-/-

She's frustrated.

She couldn't even have a single night of peace, just to spend it with the guy she may or may not like very much. She swears this wasn't in the job description, if not she wouldn't have signed up as Savior – oh right, she didn't sign up for this.

She lies in her bed, still wearing her dress from the night before being too lazy and upset to even change before collapsing onto the bed, and stares blankly at the ceiling.

Scenes from the night before plays in her mind and she remembers how he stands patiently behind her as she tries to solve the damn mystery of this so called ice lady, as so eloquently put by Will. (Then again, she did call her Dairy Queen, but that's not the point.)

She turns to her side, facing the nightstand where the single rose Killian had gotten for her stands oddly still strong in the mug she's used as a makeshift vase.

She lifts the flower up, holding it suspended above the mug to let the water drip from its stem. She moves to sit up, getting in a better position to examine the rose.

It's a real rose, she's sure of it – the darker color of the tip of the petals giving her the evidence she needs. It's odd that it's still almost perfect, given that she only put it into water late the night before. The smell of the flower is still strong, giving her an odd feeling that there's something wrong with the flower.

Mainly out of instinct, (she doesn't know how she does it but) she manages to conjure a spell of some sort, identifying whether or not there is magic used on the rose, and the flowers glows with a dark light. She gives herself a moment to pride herself in how good she's getting, but the moment is short-lived, replaced with her putting the pieces together.

She doesn't even know whether she's right or not, but by the time she calls him, she's already furious.

He picks up after the second beep, and he doesn't manage to get in a greeting before she cuts in. "It's the rose isn't it," she asks, though it isn't much of a question, and she can hear his defeated sigh. "When the rose wilts, your hand will be taken away from you."

There's a pause on the other end of the line, followed by a self-deprecating laugh. "Aye. You've always been perceptive, Swan."

"Killian, this is not the time to joke."

"I'm not—"

"This is ridiculous," she cuts him off, hanging up before he can finish his sentence (What does that mean, lov-), tossing her phone aside in a mix of frustration and anger directed to no one in particular.

(That's a lie)

(She's frustrated with Killian, and she angry- pissed with Gold)

-/-

She knocks on his door insistently, not caring who else in Granny's inn she's disturbing (not that she's actually seen other people living in the other rooms) and she hears the creak of his bed followed by padded footsteps and a 'Bloody hell'.

"Emma." He moves aside for her to enter, but instead she grabs his arm and drags him roughly down the hall and out by the car park. "Bloody- Swan!"

He pulls his arm out of her grip and she swerves around to face him, and he's taken back by the hard look on her face. "We're going to see Gold to get this-," she waves her hand at his new-old one "-fixed. It's your hand, not his," she deadpans, turning back around to move towards her car.

"I'm not coming, love," his voice says from a distance, and when she swivels back she sees him standing rooted at the spot she left him at.

"What do you mean you're not coming?" she takes two slow steps back towards him.

His shoulders slump in defeat. "I've accepted it, Emma. I'm not supposed to have two hands. After what I've done, I didn't expect any good, and then you came along." He walks cautiously to her. "You're all I need."

"And you're okay with waiting for your hand to just fall off?"

"I just wanted to hold you with both hands – just once, that's all I've ever wished for." He stares hard at her, every word he speaks sounding even more sincere than the last.

"And that's the only reason you wanted your hand back for?" She steps closer towards him, leaving barely any space in between their bodies.

He dares to move his hands up, cupping her face in his hands, running his thumbs over the apple of her cheeks. "That's all I've ever wanted."

She pushes herself off her feet the slightest, tilting her face up and pressing her lips to his. When she presses harder against him, his hands move down from her face to her waist, pulling her (if possible) closer to him.

She feels him draw back first, but she basks in the moment, letting her eyes stay shut, hoping this, along with all their other moments remain in her mind.

He presses a sweet (and dare she think loving) kiss to her forehead, and when she opens her eyes, his smile is real.

"How about we go back to mine and really see what's on Netflix?" she asks and he chuckles.

"Still have no clue what that is, but of course."

-/-

Gold reclaims Killian's hand three days later, and despite Emma's protests telling him it's his hand and that it's his right, but he goes to the pawn shop willingly, seeing the blackness reach the bottom of the petals.

She holds onto his right hand while Gold takes it back, an annoying smug look on his face (and she really, really wants to punch him now). He tells her it doesn't hurt, but she sees the way he stares at his once again handless arm, but she doesn't say anything, simply helping him put on his brace wordlessly. (He tried hiding the stump from her, telling her that she wouldn't want to see it but she insists, and he murmurs a 'stubborn woman' under his breath as he grudgingly holds his arm out for her) It's the first time she's really seen his bare arm (not wanting to count that night in the hospital as the first time) and she can tell he's nervous that she'd be scared, his eyes following her every move as she caresses his wound.

She leaves clicking the hook in place to him, and he as much as he says that he's accepted it, she doesn't miss the longing look in his eyes.

She pulls his arm to her, her hand playing with the hook and he gives her a halfhearted smile.

"Have I ever told you that I find the hook strangely sexy?"

His smile is real this time.

-/-


	3. wins

_a oneshot for after Killian knocks himself out in 3x22_

_-/-_

She feels the moment things change between them. Since they left his ship, past self knocked unconscious, the tension is thick in the air around them.

He walks a distance ahead of her, and she can't find it in herself to chase after him (like he's done for her so many times before), her mind convincing her that he needs space.

When they find a clearing, he drops their belongings down, murmuring for her to stay here while he finds some firewood. She nods quietly, thinking it best not to argue with him.

He comes back after five minutes, though without him there, it felt like she was waiting for hours on end. He does it wordlessly, placing the wood carelessly down, before going off to try and light it. He's unable to start a fire, and it's obvious he's beginning to get frustrated, yet because of his stubbornness, he persists; the only sound of complaint coming from him is the tsk of annoyance.

"Here," she says, approaching him from the log she patiently sits on, "Let me."

He tries one more time before giving in, moving aside for her to try. His back slump in defeat as he makes his way to the log she was perched on.

Apparently, like the rest of the things in movies, starting a fire isn't as easy as they make it out to seem. The best she gets is a tiny spark, and for a moment she jumps with excitement, but the moment passes and she stares at the dull wood angrily.

(It's times like these where she wishes she still had her magic, she didn't realize how useful her powers were until they were taken away, but she doesn't regret giving her powers up for him. Not one bit.)

(And it's times like these where she thinks of the insecurity he masks with a smile when he says '_Given our history, can you blame me for being uncertain_' and she wants to _hit_him – as if she could ever just let _him _die.)

"Stop, lass," he's suddenly next to her, putting his hand on hers, and she realizes she's been furiously trying to light the fire while being consumed by her thoughts. "We'll just have to deal with the cold tonight."

"What fun," she says mockingly, but apparently he's not in the mood for sarcasm, giving her a tight-lipped smile.

They both settle themselves down, using their leather jackets to cushion their heads from the hard forest ground. He lays himself down quite a distance away from her, his back facing hers, and she'd be lying if she said she's not disappointed that he didn't try sleep closer to her (_God, she's such an idiot_).

There's a gush of cool night breeze and she shivers, letting out an uncontrolled'_Fuuuck' _as the air grazes her skin. He must've felt it too because she hears the rustling sounds of his movements behind her.

A sudden warmth surrounds her, and her brain takes a moment to process that it's his leather jacket that's the source of the heat. She lets herself bask in his coat for a minute, appreciating the warmness it brings, before rolling around to see him using his arm in replacement of his makeshift leather pillow.

He doesn't even look like he's trying to sleep; instead, he stares up into the night sky, looking at the white dots that represent stars.

"Your back's going to hurt, your arm's going to be numb and you'll catch a cold," she lists the possible outcomes of his gesture.

He sighs. "I've slept in worse positions, I have two more layers of clothes and it'll just be another bit of my arm that I can't feel," he retorts, his eyes still staring upwards to the sky instead of at her.

His answer catches her off guard and she doesn't say anything, remaining silent and allowing him to take her line.

"Honestly, lass – I've had colder nights. Keep the coat."

She wants to argue, but she's almost a hundred percent sure that'll set him off even more, so she nods, and whether or not he sees it, she closes her eyes and accepts the little bit of (_literal_) comfort he offers her.

(If asked, she won't admit just how good his coat feels around her – the combination of smells of rum and ocean salt, just says him and she pulls the coat a little tighter around her small frame, letting the smell of him envelop her into sleep)

-/-

She awakes awhile later – whether it's been an hour, two or four, she doesn't know – the only thing she knows is that it's still dark and there's still awhile till dawn breaks.

She can make out the black silhouette of Killian's body, curled in a ball in an attempt to fight the cold. She can feel the guilt growing in the pit of her stomach, because even when mad, he's such a fucking gentleman.

Emma moves slowly towards him, dragging along her pillow and parking it next to his head. She throws his coat around them (and it's not a _huge _coat, so she's placed _pretty_close to him). She does it cautiously, opening her jacket up a fold, and lifting his head carefully off the ground before sliding it beneath his head.

Lying down beside him, she feels his body relax, subconsciously opening up from his fetal position. And then he tenses, a jolt of muscles moving surprising her.

"What are you doing?" his voice is rough and thick with sleep, and she doesn't miss the way he stretches his neck to sooth the stiffness in it.

"You were cold—"

"I told you—"

"—and before you argue with me, your coat is big enough for the both of us to share – so don't be an ass and just _share_."

That seems to do it. He furrows his eyebrows in an act of stubbornness before giving her a curt nod and turning on his side, his back facing her once more.

She sighs defeatedly, but you can't win at everything.

-/-

The feel of the warm rays of the sun on her skin is what wakes her up.

Killian's not awake yet, and his first hours of the night are reason enough. She doesn't want to get up yet, the ground surprisingly more comfortable than it was when she first laid down the night before and it's only when her mind fully wakes up when she realizes why.

Her leather jacket's all but forgotten. Instead, she uses the crook between his neck and shoulder as her pillow. Her arm is draped across his stomach, his goes around her in a similar gesture; hand perched softly above her waist.

She doesn't have it in her to move or wake him up, reasons unknown (it could be because he looks so peaceful or because she's selfish and it's too damn comfortable lying here in his arms, but who's to know the real reason?).

In the end, she doesn't do anything, letting herself live in this moment for a while longer before God knows what happens next.

(It's moments like these – moments with _him_ – where she reconsiders the whole _New York _plan, allowing herself to think of a future in Storybrooke with everyone – with him ('_A good one'_) – but as always, it's just wishful thinking. Good things never do work out for her, and just like the times before, she throws the thought in the back of her mind)

(But she'd be lying if she said the visions of _him_ and _her_ and _happiness _don't sneak out from time to time)

-/-

When they finally do get up, disentangling themselves from each other, she tries not to blush at the awkwardness in his motions. His cheeks are flushed and he avoids looking at her, mumbling their plans for the day while he scratches his ear and shuffles on his feet like a nervous schoolboy.

She might not have won all of last night, but she starts the day off with a solid win.

-/-


	4. stolen sunlight

_a lil Hades/Persephone au_

-/-

She remembers the sun – the way the heat of its rays graze gently on her skin – and the luscious green of the endless hills and fields. She still hears the giggles of her friends; still feels her mother's eyes follow her every move. It's a day like any other.

And then, it's not.

The ground snaps beneath her, but she's frozen to her spot, and she watches as the crack that splits the earth races towards her as if she's the finish line. Her mother's cries and screams are muted to her ears, and all she can feel is her heart lurching in her chest as the ground vanishes from under her.

And she's _falling_.

It's minutes before she feels something solid beneath her, and by then, she gives into the fatigue, allowing herself to be enveloped by the heat that surrounds her.

When she wakes up, she's disorientated in a foreign land. Her skin is damp with a sheen of sweat, and lounging in the chair before her is death itself. She's heard stories of the God who was banished to the underworld – _Hades_, they say his name in hushed whispers as though it's tabooed, and in that moment she understands why.

He doesn't say anything, simply looks at her with a piercing glare, his head tilted in curiosity as though she's a caged animal. His eyes – she's sure they're blue but from here, in this light, it's a menacing shade of grey. His features are hard, his sharp jawline accentuated by the straight face he wears, jaw clenched tightly. His hair is dark, identical to the rest of this God forsaken land. He pushes himself upright, leaning forward the slightest and even with this smallest of movements, his stare deepens. And then out of nowhere, a huge grin plays out on his lips.

She can't even find it in herself to be scared – all she feels at that second is pure hatred.

-/-

The irony doesn't escape her. She's the goddess of spring and yet, there's nothing but darkness here, not a single hint of life at all.

It's gloomy, _all the time_. The only thing of colour she's seen over the past years is the blonde of her hair and the green in her eyes when she's lucky enough to get a glimpse of her own reflection.

He's dangerous and she sees it in the way he plucks men and women from their families to be brought to the underworld. She sees it in the way people run from them when he takes her above in a surprised visit. But as the years go by, just like the ones in the ground that brought her here in the first place, his cracks show her glimpses of another person.

_Killian,_ he tells her to call him that one day – no explanation whatsoever. She assumes that it's his given name – that he had become _Hades, the feared God of the Underworld _somewhere along the way.

Over the years, she's learnt exactly when he changes from _Hades _to _Killian_. It's when his eyes shine ocean blue that she knows it's Killian that she's with. It's when his jaw relaxes and she swears it's a small smile on his lips that she can tell that Hades is gone for the time being.

It's these small hints that convince her that there's an actual man beneath the hard exterior helping her hate him less and less, and when she thinks back to the times when people used to warn her of the dangers of _Hades_, she feels the urge to defend _Killian_. She still swears that she hates it here, that she'd much rather be home in the fields with her friends – but when word of her mother's tireless attempts to save her reaches her, she can't find it in herself to _want _to be saved.

-/-

When the fight between her own father and _Hades_ breaks out, he tells her to run.

"Go back home, love," he urges, insisting it's not safe for her. He's giving her a free pass to leave and to save herself, but she finds that she's not ready to leave him. _Not yet, _she tells herself(though if she's being honest, she's not sure if she ever will be ready to leave him – not after everything they've been through _together_).

He calls her stubborn, telling her that it's time he lets her go – tells her that she belongs at home.

"That's not my home – _not anymore_."

He tells her that she's playing with fire.

She tells him that she wants to be burned.

-/-


	5. gods & monsters

_a little pre-4x11 oneshot_

_-/-_

She doesn't give herself time to process it, for she knows the moment she stops to think about it, she'll break down.

Her foot weighs heavily on the pedal, and being honest, she has no clue what to do. She doesn't even know where he is. Her breaths are labored just at the thought that he may be (is) in pain, and that the vilest of scum has control over him.

She wonders how she could have been so stupid – the past few weeks the whole town's focus was on the not-so-evil Snow Queen, when the real problem was sitting quietly in his pawn shop, as her own son's employer.

(She hates herself for not noticing, for not asking what's wrong with him. She hates that like everything else in his life, he had to go through this alone)

(At least now, she has her family – all he has is her, and she hasn't been doing a very good job at being his)

Her stomach churns at the possibility that she may be too late (she's always too late – she was too late with Graham and Neal, God forbid she be too late with him), that he could already be gone, taken away from her before she could do anything (and God would she do anything for him).

When she finally reaches the pawn shop (almost missing it entirely being so consumed by her thoughts), she walks with heavy steps towards the door, only to be met with a teary eyed Belle. She assumes the worse (you're too late, you're too late, you're too late), and for a second her own heart stops.

When Belle tells her, she feels as though she's been brought back to life and she wastes no time getting back into her car and speeding towards him.

She takes all the shortcuts, rushing towards the docks, and nearly running into one of the dwarves, almost turning seven into six.

Tears begin to well up in her eyes, knuckles already white from the grip she holds on the steering wheel, as her heart beats a staccato against her chest. Nearly crashing into at least four lampposts, she makes it to the docks in one piece (her body, at least, is whole – inside, she's more broken then ever).

He's on his knees by the time she sees him – the very fact that he's still there makes her let out a long breath she didn't realize she was holding. The relief is outweighed when she sees the way his face is scrunched up in pain, the way his fist in clenched into a ball.

She searches the area for Gold, but the place is isolated with the lone silhouette of black.

"Killian!" she manages to find the voice she's been searching for ever since she found out.

"Swan," comes out as a soft sigh accompanied by a gentle smile on his lips. The familiar twinkle in his eyes appear when his meet hers, and she hates that he looks so happy when he could die in a matter of seconds. The moment is lost when the same thought seems to occur in his mind as he shakes his head, physically pulling himself out of the trance. "You should leave."

He screams in pain, and Emma rushes towards him, but he pushes his hand out, asking her to stay back while he cries out in agony.

"Stop!" she yells, not even sure where exactly Gold is. She's very aware of the shakiness in her voice and the tears that race down her cheeks, and how weak she looks – but it's him, and she can just be when it comes to him.

With him, she doesn't have to put up a brave face – with him, she's not the Savior, not the mother, not the daughter, she's just Emma Swan.

"Emma, you don't want to see this," he urges and the bastard has time to think of her feelings while his heart is in the process of being crushed. She hates that he's trying to spare her of what he's felt, the watching of their loved ones have their hearts crushed, because she can't even imagine what he went through.

"You're fucking mad to think I'd leave you."

He smiles at that – fucking smiles, "Love-" he tries, but his face contorts in discomfort, the hand he held out to stop her from coming to him clutches at his chest. "Bloody hell," he curses, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Hey," she shakes him by the arm, making him look at her, two pairs of glistening eyes meeting, when she says shakily, "Hold on – just for a bit more – I'll get it back."

"It's always been yours," he says softly, his eyes show her the sincerity behind his words. "He may be holding it, but it'll always be yours."

She's scared – not of what he says, but what he means. It's his final goodbye.

"Where's Gold?" she asks instead, gulping back the I love you that threatens to spill out (she won't say it – not like this).

He gives her a rueful smile, a smile that tells her he's given up. "By the well, love."

"Okay." She pushes herself off her knees but he pulls her back down. "I can get there in 10 minutes- scratch that, give me five," she assures him, with a smile she hopes passes off as believable. "You just- you just have tohold on."

"Emma," he presses when she tries to get back up. "He could crush my heart any—" His breath hitches and he releases her hand to move back to his chest, "—minute now. Please don't leave me."

"I—"

She's ready to leave, ready to rush towards the forest and give Gold a punch in the face that he's had coming over the years and return Killian's heart back to it's rightful owner.

But he's also right.

Gold is playing God with Killian's life and given his track record, he doesn't seem like the type keep Death delayed especially when it comes to a past nemesis' fate.

She knows she should go – should at least try her luck, but she also knows, that based on the past, she's not a very lucky person. She also knows what it's like to be left alone, and – God, she hates to think it – but being with him in his final moments is better than trying and failing with him all alone.

"Please," he begs, and she doesn't miss the way his voice cracks when he speaks the single word. He falls back, leaning on the railing as his legs spread open in defeat. "Don't leave me," he glances back up at her, his tired eyes meeting hers before they fall back down to stare at the hooked hand he leaves lying on his thigh.

"This is giving up," she says, though collapsing into him. Her body's finally caught up with her mind, finally feeling the fatigue that's been accumulating over the past weeks.

He puts his arm around her waist, pulling her back so she sits closer into him. Pressing a gentle kiss to her temple, his mouth whispers, "It's just giving in," and new tears begin to form in her eyes.

She clings onto his other arm tightly, water droplets gliding smoothly down the smooth skin of his jacket.

"Emma," he shakes her slightly, and she turns her head to face him, "I won't- I won't say the words for I know they'll haunt you, but just—" he sucks in a deep breath, a single tear travelling down his cheek, "—just know that I do."

"Killian-" her voice cracks, her tears taste salty on her tongue as she struggles with the words she didn't want to say- not like this.

"It's okay. You're not ready," he pulls her hand to him, wet lips pressing a soft kiss to the skin of the back of her hand. "Just sit here with me until it ends."

She takes three deep breaths, moving to intertwine their fingers and looking to face him, her voice soft and shaky.

"I don't want it to end."

He smiles a broken smile, looking down at her with watery blue eyes.

"It'll be okay," he says strongly, pressing hard kisses against her fingers, holding back the tear that threatens to slip.

He says it like he believes it and she's unsure if he's trying to convince her, or himself.

Either way, neither one are convinced.

-/-

She locks herself in her room, ignoring the soft knocks at her door accompanied by the hushed Emmas in attempts to draw her out. Glancing at the clock, a couple of hours have passed since she'd retreated to her room, closing the door on the outside world, to be trapped with her own pain.

The wood of the door is hard on her back, and sitting in the same position for over two hours hasn't been comfortable for her butt. Her family takes turns in standing by her door with comforting words and gentle knocks. Henry goes first, tries coaxing her out with the promise of hot chocolate and cinnamon, and just for a second, she allows herself to smile. Her boy is sweet and she loves him dearly.

Her mother's attempt is less than successful, and Emma begins to wonder when she lost her best friend for her mother.

Her father's words are gentle and tender, reassuring her that she'll always have them. He makes soft jokes and she can't help the smile that appears as hard as she tries to fight them. She likes to think that if she were to grow up with her parents, she would've been a daddy's girl.

When he concedes, he tells her he loves her, and for the first time in two hours, she speaks.

"I love you too," she replies, and she hears him halt in his steps. She can simply imagine the smile on his face as he walks away, and she definitely sees herself as being a daddy's girl.

With the silence of her own company, her brain mulls over the scene that she so vividly remembers from earlier.

She hates herself for being so blind, for not noticing that there was something wrong with him sooner. Sheshould have saved him.

The tears return at the thought, and she hates herself even more for being weak. Before him, she'd never let herself cry over these things, even when Neal or Graham died, she didn't isolate herself to be acquainted with the various what ifs.

And even that, Killian's not even—

"Bloody hell," she hears from outside her window.

The frame slides up and his dark head of hair peeks in.

"What do you want?" she jumps up, unconsciously fixing her hair (God she's ridiculous) as he slips himself into her room.

He straightens his jacket, glancing in the mirror to fix his hair before he turns to her. The vain idiot.

"You wouldn't let anyone in," he shrugs stepping towards her.

"I need to be alone," she crosses her arms, not willing herself to look at him. She knows that if she were to look into his eyes, she'd break, running into his arms and allowing herself to be comforted by him.

But he's an idiot and she' trying to be angry, and she knows she'll fall out of character the moment she looks at him.

"Well you've had enough of that."

She lets out a sigh. She should've known he'd be like this – he is nothing but determined judging by his insistent pursuit of her, jumping over her walls as though he were an Olympic hurdler. She runs her hand down her face, still refusing to let their eyes meet. "Hook, seriously, I—"

"Emma, look at me," he steps into her and she finally snaps.

"Don't you see?" she pushes him back but her barely moves an inch, "I can't look at you without thinking about how I didn't do anything to save you – you were going to die, Killian!"

He breathes out something that sounds like her name, pulling her towards his chest. She tenses against him, but it only provokes him to hold her tighter.

"You were going to die and I wasn't doing anything to stop it- I'm the Savior and I didn't save you—" she takes a deep breath between sobs, finally conceding and wrapping her arms around him, "—Belle and Dad and Reginasaved you – I didn't do anything."

He pulls them apart, furrows his brows at her, a crooked smile appearing on his face. "You were there. That's more than I can say for anyone else I've ever met in my 300 years. All my life I've been alone, but you were there, love."

"But—"

"You saved me the day you pulled me out of that mass of bodies," he cuts in, his words genuine and strong, making sure she believes him, "Never say you didn't save me."

She stares at this man, a man who doesn't know just how precious he is, just how good he is, and she decides in that moment that she's fallen deep in love with him.

Because just like her, he is broken – battered up by their unforgiving pasts. She likes to think that maybe their pieces fit with each other's, and maybe that's why what she feels for him is so strong.

"I love you," her voice doesn't waver at the words like she'd expected it to.

His eyes crinkle before he leans in, pressing his lips to hers. He pulls her closer, his hand resting at the nape of her neck as hers does the same. She can taste her own tears and she's pretty sure when their tongues meet he can too. She tilts her head to match his, his nose brushing her cheek in the process as she presses hard against his soft lips.

"I love you," he says back, pecking her once more at the corner of her mouth. "I'll always love you."

Her smile is sweet when she bites on her lower lip, and he thumbs at the dimple that appears. "Good," she says, sliding out from his arms, and taking his hand into hers. She leads him towards the door, opening it slowly to find her parent's shocked faces in the living room. Her father straightens up on the couch and her mother tilts her head in confusion. "Because," she says, leading him out with the movement of her arm, "I'm still fucking angry that you were going to let yourself die."

She pushes him out of the room and his face is confused to say the least.

"Swan—"

The door shuts in his face and she swears she hears the giggles of her mother and the deep chuckle of her father.

"Emma."

"Try me in about a week, Hook," she calls back as she walks towards her bed, collapsing soundly on the mattress, "See if I'm still pissed then."

When she hears a murmured 'Bloody hell, this woman,' a triumphant smile appears on her face.

She loves him, but the idiot's got to learn.

-/-

(The lesson doesn't last as long as she'd planned)

(Two mornings later, she finds herself naked and utterly sated in his bed next to an equally naked, crooked-smiled Killian)

-/-


	6. history rewritten

Her body meets hard ground with a dull thump, and she vaguely registers the black figure that lands beside her. She doesn't know exactly what happened, but she has a vague idea, and she squeezes her eyes shut in hopes that her theory isn't true.

"Bloody hell, what happened?"

The familiar accented voice makes her silently thank God that's she's not alone in whatever hellhole she's put them into, allowing herself to be selfish for exactly three seconds before kicking herself at the thought.

Opening her eyes, she's met with a recognizable hand, complete with obnoxiously jeweled fingers. He pulls her up and she's already cursing herself when she notices her surroundings is damned well _not _the not-so sleepy town of Storybrooke, and instead, is a dark, secluded alleyway.

"What happened?" he asks again, taking in the area with curious eyes. "Where did that portal take us—"

Loud cheers break up his question, then muted by the slam of a door. He peeks his head out from the wall behind him, and just as she's about to do the same, he twists his body back and pulls her away before she can do so.

"What is—" he covers her mouth with his hand roughly, holding her back as she makes another attempt to look.

She struggles against him, and he sends her a look telling her to be quiet as he releases her. Gesturing for her to wait, he tiptoes his way towards the other corner of the wall, scoping out the area. Seeing this as opportunity, she seizes it and peeks anyway, immediately understanding why he'd refused to let her see.

Hook – _a different Hook_ – stands by the door of a tavern, his side facing her as he talks to very attractive brunette woman (a very attractive and _flirty_ brunette woman, it seems) in soft murmurs and hush words.

She can't help the fuel of jealousy that builds in her, seeing him with another woman, even _if_ it isn't _actually _him.

(But then again, isn't it? If it is in fact a time portal like she assumes, and _if _they are in the time she thinks they're in, then this could very well be him)

(And if she is right on all accounts, she wouldn't have any right to blame him, after all, the curse was said to be for forever)

Her mouth still hangs ajar when he pulls her back by arm.

"Didn't I say 'stay'!" he hisses. For some reason, (the reason is standing awfully close to a skanky wench) she can't find any words. "It seems," he begins, his voice low and hushed, "that you've brought us to the Enchanted Forest – to the year you were away."

And _that_ confirms any of her rising suspicions.

She takes a long breath, holding it for longer than necessary before she finally thinks of words to say. "Okay then, we'll just have to find a way—"

They hear footsteps from both side of the dim alley, and with quick reactions, they both seem to think the same thing.

In the same second, he covers her body with his, shielding her with the dark color of his back as she in turn, pulls him closer into the shadows by his collar.

A silhouetted figure walks past them, failing to notice them as they past, stalking through the alley in quiet steps.

The following happens quickly: past-Hook walks closer towards them, and _totally_ in panic that he might spot them, she pulls the present-Hook closer, only to jump in shock when the mystery person clocks him hard on the head, causing him to fall straight on his back. She watches curiously as past-Hook is being straddled by what she now notices is a woman, held by knife to the throat.

Her hair cascades her face, and for a moment she thinks the shade of red reminds her awfully of—

"_Wait, _is that Ar—" she turns towards him, and just then does she realize how flushed together their bodies are. He notices it too, shifting awkwardly away, pushing his body off of her and to the wall next to her.

He clears his throat in an attempt to make things less uncomfortable (and failing to do so miserably), "Aye – Ariel."

-/-

They wait it out, watching quietly as Ariel demands for other-Hook to get up, only for him to use it to his advantage and turning the tables on her.

"Geez, is that how you treat a lady?" she jokes lightly, as Hook holds the dagger against Ariel's neck.

"Only the ones that threaten my life," he answers in a hushed whisper.

"_I_ threatened your life."

"Ah, my mistake – only those I don't fancy," he corrects, shooting her a mischievous smirk, of which she replies to with an annoyed eye roll.

"_Answer me!" _he yells, turning Ariel around to face him, pressing the knife harder against her throat.

She flinches at the harshness in his voice, a tone she's lucky enough never to have met. The look on his face is menacing, and for the first time, she catches a glimpse of the _feared Captain Hook_.

A glimpse is all she gets as _her _Hook (she says it as though she has any claim on him) pulls her roughly by arm away to face him.

"What the hell?" she shakes his hand off, shooting him glares before she turns back to see that the two figures are gone.

"You were going to be seen," he says shortly, as though that counted as explanation. "We can't risk changing anything. God knows what consequences a single change could do – you get spotted, and one thing leads to another and Storybrooke would be in the clutches of the green witch."

"So how do we avoid that _and _get back?"

"That, _love_, is our very first problem."

-/-

He leads her through the shadows of the dark alleyways, turning left, and then right – and right again, then left.

It's an old rundown building, and if she didn't trust him, she'd be worried for her safety. The wooden shutters hang by it's hinges and the entrance to the house (if it can even be called that) is covered by three wooden planks.

"Home, sweet home, lass."

She squints uncertainly at the structure when he gestures for her to go in with one hand, as he hangs a oil lamp he'd nicked on his hook. When she doesn't make any step to move, he huffs impatiently, moving to enter himself. He ducks in between the planks, smoothly dodging the wood to make his way in.

"Come on, Swan – it's perfectly safe," he assures, holding his hand out in invitation.

She sighs heavily, thinking that if he says it's safe, it should be safe, before taking his hand and following his lead.

"Where are we?" she narrows her eyes as she looks around the house to acclimate her sight to the darkness.

He busies himself with the satchel, making the menial task seem like a tough enough job that he can't answer her question meanwhile. "An abandoned house I found during that year." He flips through the pages of the book, a relieved sigh passing his lips, with a soft murmur of _'thank god nothing's changed'. _He lifts his head, his eyes meeting hers. "I kept a couple of things stored here."

He moves around the room with familiarity, navigates through the space with ease as though the layout's been engraved into his mind. Crouching down, he feels the wall for something, seeming to have found it, she watches as he pulls part of wall off, removing the panel and revealing a hollowed space.

She stands curiously behind him, watching him search blindly in the secret compartment as the chinking of metal on metal is heard. She vaguely wonders how much coins and jewelry he keeps in there when he pulls her away from the thought with a broad grin on his face as he holds out what she realizes is a dress.

"No way." She takes the dress from him, holding it against the light and if she thought that was bad, she couldn't imagine what it'd be like with the corset he'd just thrown at her.

"I think it's due time for a wardrobe change."

-/-

She'd refused to put on the dress that night, telling him she'll wear it when day breaks, seeing no reason to suffer unnecessarily.

So when she steps out from behind the drawers she uses as a cover, he gets a clear view of her outfit (amongst other things) in the morning light.

"And just when I thought I couldn't fancy you any more," he smirks, his gaze very obviously landing on her breasts, before flitting back to her eyes with a mischievous glint to his.

She ignores him, too early in the morning to think of a witty retort. "So what are you- they doing now? When do we leave?"

"They leave in a few hours, but we've got to leave now."

She stares incredulously at him, "_Wait,_ why do we have to leave to early if they're only leaving later? How will we even know where to go?"

He lets out a long sigh, grabbing handfuls of gold coins and transferring them into the satchel. "_Because_, we wouldn't want _me _to feel as though I were being followed, would we?" Shrugging back on his coat, he then slings the bag over his shoulders, tapping it soundly as if to see if he had everything. "And, unfortunately, I painstakingly still remember everything that happened within that year."

His eyes don't meet hers when he says it, deftly avoiding her stare by giving the room a onceover as though he was seeing if he'd left anything behind or not. She knows there's more to the story than he's willing to let out, but this time, she lets it slide, thinking it best to pick her battles.

Being familiar with the place, he leads the way, making sure to return the oil lamp back to it's initial place before anyone notices. She's amazed at how professionally he does things, making sure every detail remains the same as he swiftly avoids prying eyes, and she can't say that she's ever imagined Captain Hook to be so careful. Silently, she thanks God that she isn't alone in this, most likely messing up the future had she been on her own.

"Whose house was that anyway?" she asks the burning question that's been plaguing her mind since the night before. Again, he doesn't answer immediately, scoping out the forest they'd just reached as a distraction. "It's your house isn't it? I mean, there's no way you just found a house and decided to stash a bunch of shits and—"

"You're asking a lot of questions today, aren't you?" he throws back rhetorically, continuing to navigate through the greenery. "And no, it was my mother's." She opens her mouth to argue, wondering how it could still be around since he's about a billion years old, when he cuts her to it. "I live in the Enchanted Forest, love – charming things to be kept forever _is _possible."

When she shuts her mouth, he glances at her with an eyebrow raised. "Any more questions?"

"Yes, actually – what happened to that wen- _girl _you were talking to yesterday?" She knows how it sounds like, as though she's jealous (as though she has the _right _to even _be _jealous), but she blurts the question out anyway.

She expects a '_is that jealousy I detect there, Swan?_' or something along those lines but it never does come. Instead, "That was actually rhetorical." His response makes her furrow her eyebrows, unsure where the flirty banter has gone. "The boys gave me her as a- _little present_," he says and she can tell he's grimacing at the words. "I didn't quite feel right, so I paid her to go."

She can't help breathe out a laugh at that, "You're telling me that the innuendo-filled Hook I know paid someone _not _to have sex with him? That's a first," she bumps shoulders with him lightly, but the teasing smile on her face vanishes when she notices the look on his.

"Aye, a first."

The sound of branches breaking causes them both to jump. He pulls her aside, tugging her down to crouch behind a fallen tree in an attempt to hide before they're spotted.

"_Trudge, trudge, trudge – if you ask me, there's nothing more boring than land travel. I'd take my tail and the ocean any day," _she hears a feminine voice speak

_"That's one thing we can agree on – minus the tail of course." _The all too familiar accented voice replies, and she watches as present day-Hook sighs in defeat.

"How did they catch up?" Emma whispers, peeking from over the bark of the tree to watch them.

Hook turns around and settles quietly on the ground, his back leaning against the fallen tree. "Had you not complained every few minutes about your feet and corset, maybe we wouldn't _be_ in this predicament," he shoots back impatiently. Both are taken aback by his response, and she doesn't miss the way he flinches at his own words. "Sorry."

"What is up with you?" she can't help but ask. He stares at her, for the first time seeming to have to think of words to say, unlike other times when it's as though his answers are queued. "You've been… _weird."_

"I apologize. I—"

Past-Hook pulls Ariel aside, giving them a clear view and audio of the passing. _"Don't believe every story you hear," _he hisses. The stare he gives Ariel is fierce and the tone in his voice is harsh.

Her response is hushed and Emma is only able to catch the words _'being good' _and _'change', _before Hook mutters his response back.

_"I'm a pirate,"_ he says strongly, though the way he grits his teeth at the words has her unconvinced. _"And I always will be."_

He walks away from the red haired woman, leaving her to watch him turn his back on her, and Emma sees how both Ariel and herself notice the way he cowers behind his walls.

When she glances towards present-Hook, his eyes are squeezed shut as he lays his head back against the wood of the tree, as though he were trying to wipe this out from his memory. She thinks that perhaps he is trying to do just that – for that would be reason to his acting strangely.

"Hook?" she finally speaks when they get back up after they see that the area is cleared from his past self and his companions. "Are you—"

"I lied, Emma." He stops in his tracks, the words come out fast, as if he felt that if he didn't say it now, he never would.

"What?"

"I never did help her find her love – not here, and especially not in Storybrooke," his jaw clenches when he comes out with it. She doesn't say anything, waiting for him to elaborate himself, not quite sure what her reaction should be. "What you'll soon see, is a man who's given up on everything, a selfish man who throws away the chance of reuniting true loves just because he's lost all hope."

She doesn't think about the underlining text behind his confession, refuses to analyse his words for the possible meaning scares her to no end.

"But you said—"

"She was never in Storybrooke – it was Zelena. That was when she…" he drifts off, his fist clenching tightly at the memory of the witch and what she'd done. "Ariel, she found Eric on her own, without my help. I was too consumed with self-loathing that I couldn't see right from wrong."

She shakes her head, placing the new information in the blank spaces in the timeline she's been meaning to fill, unsure of what to do now that she knows. "Why are you telling me this now?"

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Because you're going to see the bloody monster I really am, and you barely trust me as is, so—"

"Who said I don't trust you?"

"You did!" his voice rises at the words, his body stepping forwards when he speaks them. "You wanted to know what happened the year you were away, and now you have it. That's why you thought of this time when falling through, didn't you?"

_Now, _she's thoroughly confused, completely lost at what he's saying. "What? _No!"_ She grabs him by the arm forcing him to face her when he turns away from her with a shaking head. "I—" she swallows back her words with a gulp, not quite sure how to articulate her thoughts. "I thought of this time because _I'm _the one that's selfish!" the words spill out of her mouth before she really thinks them through.

"What?"

Taking a deep breath, she allows herself a moment to actually think through her words this time. "I wanted to see how everyone's lives were like without me, and maybe if I saw that everyone was alright, then _maybe _leaving would be easier."

She catches the way his jaw clenches at the mention of her leaving, and a sudden urge to run her hand down the side of his face to soften his features runs through her. She knows exactly how it makes her sound, how it must sound to _him_. She's a selfish bitch and she can't expect him to go easy on her.

"Well, does this-" he gestures with his hook at the area surrounding them, "-help you decide?"

"I still- I still don't—"

"_No_, you have to tell me," he cuts her short, his voice rough and his tone impatient. "Because if your choice is what I pray it isn't, I have to prepare myself to bring you home, only to watch you leave again."

The step he takes towards her is small, making the gap in between them all that much more narrow.

"So," his voice is low as sapphire eyes stare through emerald ones, "what's the verdict, Swan?"

-/-


	7. the four times emma is at his door, and

**_the four times emma is at his door, and the one time she lets herself in_**

**_one_.**

It's pathetic really, how she's been glancing over at him every few minutes for the past two hours, waiting for the right time to talk to him. She's almost definitely sure that he knows she's been looking at him, given by the way he laughs obnoxiously, the way he smiles too brightly and the way he flirts to overtly with Ruby from behind the counter.

If she didn't know better, she'd say he was trying to make her jealous – but because she does know better- nope, he probably is trying to get her jealous.

(She can assure anyone, that it is not working)

Just as she sees that Ruby's done giving him smirks and throwing him winks, she moves to get– but, of course Neal swoops in. He slides in the booth across her, smile so wide that the corner of his eyes crinkle.

And for a moment, just like that, she forgets all the pain this man has caused her, disremembers the scars he'd inflicted on her soul after all these years.

But the moment is just that. She feels herself harden again as she sends him a tightlipped smile.

He talks about how he's so relieved and so looking forward to sleeping in a proper bed for the first time in weeks, how he can't wait to spend some real time with Henry, and something about lunch, and— her mind drifts off, the smile still plastered to her face as her eyes flit from him, to her fiddling fingers, to the pirate that's sitting—no, leaving the diner.

She excuses herself, not even paying attention to the confused look on Neal's face, reflexively answering with a 'What? Yeah, sure,' to his question that sounded a lot like 'how about we have lunch tomorrow?'

"Wait!" she calls after him as the door closes behind her, a cold gush of wind brushing past her face. "Hook!"

He responds to his moniker, turning on his heel and lifting his brows in curiosity when he realizes it's her. "Swan?"

"I— um," she walks towards him until there's a safe distance between them – and of course the safety of the space is tainted when he steps in, "I," she continues, trying not to falter from the personal space she now does not have, and of course, failing miserably. She shakes her head, "Where are you staying?"

"Excuse me?" he cocks his head back in surprise, and amused smirk growing on his lips.

"I mean—," she adds quickly, realizing how her words could be taken, "You're not staying on your ship are you?"

"I am," he says slowly, unsure of what he should or should not be answering. "Why'd you ask?"

Here it is, she braces herself for the unavoidable innuendo she has coming her way. Except-

It doesn't come.

Instead, he looks at her with furrowed brows, and she can't believe that she's actually surprised there are no winks coming her way.

"You should stay at Granny's," she says confidently, as if part of the reason why she's asking him to stay there is not because she has an irrational fear that he may sail off in the middle of the night.

"Alas, I haven't the currency this world uses, only gold coins and stolen valuables," he smiles cheekily at her, flashing his white teeth, contrasting with the darkening sky, before he gives her a slight bow and spins back around.

She's puzzled to say the least, can't really understand this new way of how he's acting with her, but she doesn't give herself time to mull over the thought. She grabs his arm and tugs him back. "Stay at Granny's – I'll get something sorted out for you."

He lets out a defeated sigh and that's all the encouragement she needs drag him right back into the doors of the diner.

-/-

"Here's your door key, and you just put it in the lock and turn it like—"

He stops her with a hand on hers, "Swan, I may be old, but I'm certainly not daft," he teases, removing her hand from the knob and unlocking the door himself. "Remind me again why Granny Lucas herself couldn't show me to my room herself? Or Ruby for that matter," he adds with a grin.

It catches her off guard, but she doesn't let it show, masking her jealousy with a smooth cover. "I'm sure they were busy – just thought that I could help out," she shrugs. He doesn't push- or she doesn't give him time to push, changing the topic quickly before he can add a smirk or anything of the sort. "I also wanted to thank you –" she shifts from foot to foot, all the while keeping a cool face, "we wouldn't have been able to save Henry without you."

He grants her a genuine smile, "Aye, but even without me, I'm sure you lot would've figured out a way to save him – the villains never do win, after all," he adds, and she may be mistaken, but she catches a sense of sadness behind his words.

She constantly wonders about him, completely sure that under all the layers of leather there's someone else behind the façade of innuendo. One day, she promises, she will find that man, uncover his truths and bury his lies. She's unsure exactly what it is about him that intrigues her, perhaps it's the lost look he has in his eyes when he doesn't realize, or maybe it's in the way he really smiles.

Either way, she'll find the real him, for after Pan, all they have is ample of villain-less times.

"Well, thank you still – for making the rescue easier," she concedes, and he takes this with a gentle smile.

He pushes the door open, flicking on the light and examining the room, before turning back to her, "Well, good night then, Swan."

He does his little bow again when she replies with a tight-smiled good night, Hook, tired eyes still shining he closes the door, creating a barrier of wood in between them.

"Good night," she murmurs again before walking back the direction she came.

-/-

_**two.**_

The digital clock by the nightstand reads 12:59AM and she hates herself for even thinking about it.

As if it wasn't enough for her to drink two cups at dinner with her family and Regina, she's laying in bed craving yet another warm cup of chocolate at 1am.

Twisting on the bed to see Henry fast asleep (the exact picture of a sweet young boy, worry-free and happy, but unbeknownst to him, everything is at the exact opposite of happy), she makes the decision to sneak out of bed and into the kitchens.

Being town Savior and Sheriff has its perks – one of them being unlimited access to the diner's kitchens at the late hours of the night.

Pushing the door open, she slides into the diner, the door swinging back in place with a hushed swoosh.

She doesn't notice him at first, the figure that sits quietly in the corner of the diner in the booth she's sat at one too many times. So when he clears his throat, she jumps, leading to the drop of the mug on the kitchen counter.

Luckily enough, the fall isn't steep, or Emma might have just lost her kitchen privileges.

"Jesus, you fucking scared me," she says without having to turn around to look at the culprit, knowing already it's him.

The sound of metal sliding against tiled floor tells her he's settled down on a stool, most likely leaning over the counter perched on his arm. "I apologize," he says quietly.

She turns just her head to look at him, an eyebrow raised as she turns on the kettle to boil water. His stare is glued to the counter, blank and tired, and she has the slightest feeling that it could correlate with his odd behavior from earlier.

"It's 1 in the morning."

"I needed a drink," he answers her not-so question, flashing her his flask as evidence, "much like you, I see."

"Our choice of refreshments differ though," she teases, but all she gets back is a tight smile. "We missed you at dinner," she mentions as she turns her attentions back towards her drink. "Where were you anyway?"

There is a pause before he speaks, as though he needs to think of his words carefully, and Emma notes that, telling herself to catch upcoming lies,just in case, she tells herself. She trusts him, she'd even told Regina that she does, but something's off and she's going to find out what it is.

"I was by the docks for awhile, finding solace in the ocean," his tone is somber when he talks of the ocean (yet another thing she makes note of asking him about in the future), "and then I came here."

She stirs the drink, allowing her time to think through her words, "Didn't you eat?" she asks, and it's only when the words slip out from her mouth does she realize how odd it sounds. Since when had she worried over whether he's had dinner or not?

"Didn't have the appetite."

"Aren't you hungry now? I could whip something—"

"Fret not, love – I'm fine." He pushes himself off the stool, tucking it back under the counter and makes a move to go, "I think I best be off to bed. Long day tomorrow, most likely."

He sends her another tight lipped smile, turning towards the door when, "Wait!" He pauses in the turn, twisting back to her with a tiredly raised eyebrow. It brings her back to another time – back when they'd all thought they were safe from Neverland and from demonic not-so teenaged boys. "Wait for me," she hears herself saying and for some reason, it doesn't sound as light as it should mean. "I'm almost done here," she adds after a pause and he nods quietly in response, his stance slumping as he tucks his flask away.

Mug in hand, heat of the hot chocolate warming her fingers, she smiles at him, nodding her head towards the door. She moves first and he follows closely behind, making sure to push open the door for her and she can't help but think of 'I'm always a gentlemen', and a nostalgic smile appears on her lips.

It never ceases to amaze her how much things have changed over a short period of time. Sometimes, she feels as though it was just last week when the two of them had climbed a damn beanstalk (yes, it still gets to her).

His room is closer than hers, so when she halts by his door, he looks at her surprised. "I didn't think you'd still remember where my room was," he smirks and there he is.

"Well, it feels like just a couple of days ago," she shrugs, and – there he goes – at the fading smirk, she realizes that it hadn't been like a couple days for him.

(She has no idea how hard that year was for him. For him, it was over 300 days thinking about something that would never be his, 12 months of nightmared sleeps of a voice coming from a woman with blonde hair and green eyes muttering his name. For him, it was hundreds of bottles of rum, attempting to drown out the visions of the woman he'd never have)

(For him, it was a bitter mix of heaven and hell)

He lets out a hollow laugh, "Aye, I guess it does."

"Right,"

"Well," they both say at the same time, but he allows her to go first, always just following her. "I better get to bed – I wouldn't want Henry to wake up worrying," she adds as an excuse.

"Aye," he nods in agreement, fitting in the key into its lock and opening the door. She gets a glimpse of his room, how he's made the little rented room to be his – the maps stuck on the wall, spyglass perched on the table and other nautical things she doesn't know the names of that lie neatly in the room. "Till tomorrow, Swan," he says, stepping into the room, body still facing her and hand on the wood of the door, now blocking her view of the inside.

"Right, tomorrow," she echoes, her lips tilting upwards slightly – a gesture he doesn't return. He nods, his blue eyes tired and she swears they're trying to tell her a message.

Killian, what's wrong?

She wants to ask, needs to – yet her lack of bravery shows again, and she says nothing, allowing him to close the door on her.

She sighs, déjà vu.

-/-

**_three._**

"Swan!" his voice booms from across the street, and she can hear his boots hitting the pavement.

"Hey," she turns, and he's already halfway across the road, jogging towards her and the smile on his lips grows wider as he approaches. When he reaches her, his eyes sparkle along with his teeth, adorably trying to hide his panting, and she can't help her heart stuttering at the sight before her. She's never had anyone look at her the way he does – with such glee and joy and excitement, with his dimples flashing and his blue eyes shining.

"How was she?" he asks with a crooked smile, his hand moving to play with the curls of her hair.

She doesn't stop the smile that appears on her lips at his little antic, "She didn't really want to talk, but I think she'll be alright."

"It's progress," he replies. Tilting his head, he smirks at her, "How about we go and watch that net-thing like you said before?" His tongue darts out to moisten his lips, and god does she want to be the one moistening those lips.

"Well," her hand moves up to the lapel of his coat by its own volition, and she pulls him that much closer. (In the back of her mind, she's reminded that they are in fact on the street where anyone could see them, but she pushes that thought and her usual disgust at public displays of affection away.) "My parents, son and brother are at home, so I doubt we'd get our quiet moment there."

"Ah," he adds thoughtfully, "aren't we lucky that I have an empty room over at the inn?" The look he gives her should be illegal, the way he quirks his eyebrow up just the slightest and how he bites softly at his bottom lip makes her weak in the knees.

"Sounds like a brilliant idea."

-/-

They fumble through the hallways of the inn clumsily, stopping every few feet to push the other against the wall as their mouths fuse together at every available moment. They make it to his door and she slips the key from his pocket, shaky hands fumbling trying to fit it in while soft lips trail down her neck, the jacket she wears sliding off her shoulders to give him more area to cover.

When she hears the click, she cheers internally, but when he's about to pull her in, his hand in hers, her phone goes off, the ringtone telling her that it's her father that's calling.

Both of them let out a long sigh, the interruption most likely putting an end to the mood, and she lets go of his hand to reach into her pocket and retrieve her phone. His arms slumps to his side as Emma gives him a rueful look before answering the call.

"Mmm," she says, "Alright, yeah, I'll be there as soon as I can."

She ends the call and gives him a tired look. "Mom's going all crazy and she wanted this '1 week of the baby being safe' celebration dinner thing, that completely slipped my mind."

He looks at her thoughtfully, taking a moment to examine her words, face and emotions – and god damn it, he's reading her.

"There's something more," he says quietly. "You're feeling neglected, aren't you? They weren't there for your first steps or your first anything, but with your brother, the slightest things won't go uncelebrated.

"Yeah," is all she says, always amazed at the way he's able to read her better than even she can.

"You should go love, it may hurt, but in the future, it's these kinds of things you'll find you regret."'

She thinks that maybe in another life, he could've been a philosopher, given by the way his words flow so effortlessly off his tongue. But luckily, in this life, he's a pirate – her pirate – with eyes like the ocean and lips so soft she could spend all day kissing – one day, she promises herself.

"You're right," she concludes, leaning her head against the wall of the hallway.

"Good night then, love," he smiles, leaning in to kiss her once more for the day, when she turns suddenly away. The look he gives her is confusion, but it soon vanishes when she tugs on his arm to follow her.

He manages to close his door as she pulls him away, already able to tell that there's a plan going on in his Swan's head.

"You're coming with me," is all she gives as explanation.

-/-

Dinner is awkward at first, but once the ice thaws (no pun to the recent events intended), conversation flows smoothly.

When she turns to look at him, his smile is large and genuine.

Maybe it's too early for those three words (it definitely is), so she settles on, 'I really, really like you' at the end of the day when he kisses her goodnight by her door.

-/-

_**four.**_

"I told you, Swan," he whispers against her lips, "I'm a survivor."

She can't help but smile at that, the relief of him being okay settling in, but at the back of her mind she knows how close he was to not being okay. She pushes the thought away, focusing on the words he'd once told her – here and now.

Not wanting to ruin their quiet moment, she leans in for another kiss, a soft, tender, loving kiss and she begins to wonder if she can really pinpoint the moment she'd realized she'd loved him.

(Maybe it was when she was about to witness his death – or maybe when Snow Queen threatened his life)

(Sometimes, she feels like it might've been when he'd sat across the table from her – I came back to save you, he says, to which she tells him she's in love with another man and yet he still stands by her side – and maybe it's then when she falls)

(Other times have her convinced that it was their very first kiss – the one in Neverland where they wouldn't have gotten to without him – when she'd began collapsing her walls for the man with eyes like the sky)

(Most of the time, she realizes it doesn't really matter. For all that matters is that she does and that she doesn't have a doubt in her mind that he feels the same way too)

"You're tired," she murmurs, forehead resting against his, noses brushing as she closes her eyes allowing herself to bask in the moment. "We should get you to bed."

He grumbles playfully, "Only if you'll come with me."

She can't help the small laugh, pressing her lips once more to his. "Maybe later, I have to check on someone for awhile."

He lets out a long sigh as she wiggles out from his arms, dragging him along towards his room. "You said that the last time," he whines, playing the part of a tantrum-throwing child to perfection.

She doesn't stop the smile that grows on her face as she drags her grumbling maybe-boyfriend (she really doesn't know what to call him – boyfriend sounds to immature, lover sounds too lover, so she's settled on maybe-boyfriend) to his room.

When she unlocks the door, his how did you get that is answered before he finishes asking when she tells him that she'd slipped it from his pocket back downstairs.

All he does is smirk and murmur 'pirate'.

They kiss one last time at his door, his thumb smoothing down the side of her face slower than usual until it finally meets the dimple in her chin.

"Go to sleep."

He nods, "I'll see you soon, yeah?"

She nods.

When she walks away, he calls out, "You know, you've never once been in my room."

She turns her head, smile evident on that side, "Oh? Well, we'll have to change that soon, now don't we?"

He laughs out a bloody hell before she reaches the top of the stairs, the sound of the door closing quietly behind her, and her smile grows even wider.

-/-

She has always been curious. While she knew magic did wonderful (and sometimes not so wonderful) things, a book writing about the lives of realpeople on its own is where she draws the line.

As much as she'd love to spend some time with her own kid, she knows Regina needs him more – so when the awkward 'who's-house-do-I-sleep-in-tonight' situation arises, she doesn't bat an eye before telling Henry he could stay with his other mother.

Regina sends her a warm smile, probably the closest she'll get to thank you from the lady, and she looks at it as progress, that maybe one day, both Henry's mothers could be amiable towards each other without having the threat of a magic fireball being thrown at the other.

She doesn't even consider going home – the only place she really wants to be is in a small room in Granny's. So when she finds herself standing by the front of a familiar door, she can't even say she's surprised at why she's there.

Long ago, the very first time she brings him to his room, Granny had given her two keys to give to Killian. However, only one key reached him – the other key seeming to get stuck in her jacket pocket for god knows what reason.

She unlocks the door quietly, turning the knob slowly and pushing through gently. She's scared of two things – one, being waking him up from his much needed rest; and two, having him already up and prepared to attack at the sound of the intruder with his hook at the ready.

She's safe from both those fears.

When she closes the door, she turns to a soundly sleeping Killian – hook laid by the nightstand, eyes shut in peaceful bliss and (very toned) chest bare and tempting.

Shrugging off her jacket, she wiggles out of her pants, refusing to sleep in skintight jeans no matter what they'll think of her. She slides into bed, under the covers and into warm arms, pressing a soft kiss on the inside of his wrist.

He stirs then, not even half surprised at the new occupant in his bed (and should she talk to him about that?). He pulls her closer, pressing his lips to the crook of her neck and nuzzling his nose in there.

"Goodnight, Swan."

"'Night, Killian."

-/-


	8. hey stranger, can i have a kiss?

It's not like he's never dragged her to go to something she doesn't like, but at least she has the good grace to look as though she's interested in his pretentious wine tastings with his fancy friends from the Upper East Side. And yet, here he is, (as if the whiny remarks made on the way here weren't enough) phone in hand and eyes glued to the screen. She doesn't know why she expected anything but this from him – after all, whenever there's a game on on any given night, he comes up with an excuse to actually go out on a date, just so that he wouldn't have to lay on the couch as with the iPad in his hand while she coaxes him to interest him into the game.

"Walsh, come on," she nudges him with her elbow, and even that, he barely lifts his eyes off the phone. "At least try and enjoy the game."

There you go, she thinks, when he drops his hands to his lap and sends her a tight lipped smile. She takes it, because this is as good as it gets with him.

"Bloody fuck," the man next to her with a thick accent curses, his hand curled into a fist as he hits it in frustration against his thigh. He's literally on the edge of his seat, completely immersed into the game. She eyes him with a little tilt of the head, noticing the familiar blue and orange colors on his cap.

'I feel you', she thinks, as the smile she can't help graces her lips.

"What's that, lass?" he turns to her with a curious smile.

Fuck, she hadn't realized she'd said it out loud, but hey – she glances over at Walsh who'd returned to his phone (1 minute! A new record!) – since her own boyfriend won't pay attention, she might as well talk to the stranger who looks like she can actually rant and rave with. The first thing that she notices is the light blue of his eyes, the color contrasting with the dark hairs of his scruffy beard.

"It's ridiculous isn't it – the way they're playing," she says smoothly, as though she'd actually meant to say the previous words out loud.

"Absolutely," he agrees, nodding his head as he lifts the bottle of beer he holds to his lips. "I don't understand why I'm so surprised anymore – it's not like we've actually been playing well, as of late."

She smiles, a sweet and warm one before she turns back to the court, and she sees that he does too.

Just before halftime, he taps on her shoulder, his body leans slanting in his seat towards her. "To be honest, lass – I actually don't know much about basketball," he confesses, and she looks at him confused.

"Then why act like you do?" she raises an eyebrow. He probably thought it would be a good pickup line – talk about the game, laugh and cheer together before asking for her number – and she's ready to roll her eyes because her boyfriend is literally right there (not that Walsh had given any indication to outside eyes that they were anything more than strangers sitting next to each other)

He shrugs, "You see that lad over there," he nods to his left, towards the boy who's very much glued to the game. He looks just over 9 – dark hair and a handsome face – dressed in the full Knicks fan attire – blue jersey with his face painted orange, and her heart fills up at the way focus is evident on the young boy's face. "Well, that wee lad is my nephew – and his father was supposed to come with him – but my git of a brother seemed to have overbooked this time slot. So, I was begged to come and act as though I know the first thing about basketball."

The queued eye roll is halted by an admiration that she doesn't show. At least the accented stranger has the decency to pretend for his nephew – whereas Walsh has his brows furrowed as he taps furiously on his screen.

"Not bad, Irish," she credits him and he smiles widely. "Fooled me."

He laughs at that, scratching a spot behind his ear. "He was looking forward to this, so I didn't have the heart to ruin it for him."

At least some people feel that way, is on the tip of her tongue, but it's interrupted when the ref blows for halftime, and Irish's attentions are turned back towards his nephew.

"Bloody hell, that was ridiculous!" she hears the young boy say, and she smiles quietly at the passion he has in his voice when he says it.

"Completely. I can't believe— Hey! You're not allowed to say that!"

The boy's just about to retort, when the crowd's cheers drown out his reply. She's familiar with those cheers – the several whistles and ooohs is all she needs to know that it's time for the next Kiss Cam victim. And so she applauds with everyone else, looking up to the jumbotron only to see—

Fuck.

It's her face and Walsh's and she freezes.

The sounds around the court grow louder, and she realizes she has nothing to lose, after all, he is her boyfriend.

Except, when she shakes his arm lightly, he doesn't budge, ignoring her for whatever work related matter it is now.

She's beginning to feel embarrassed, thousands of peoples eyes on her as her boyfriend refuses to pay attention to her.

So—

She twists in her seat, not allowing herself to think before she leans in touches her lips to Irish's. His lips are still against hers initially, but it changes in a second when she feels his fingers in her hair and he pulls her closer to deepen the kiss—

And the crowd goes wild.

But his lips are far from satisfied (and fuck – it's a mutual feeling between both lips) and she feels his tongue nudge at the seam of her mouth. So sue her for being weak to that, but she opens her lips the slightest and now they're full on making out.

It's the clearing of the throat of Walsh that pulls them apart, and Emma cringes at how she's going to do this. She mouths a 'thank you' at Irish and he grins cheekily, murmuring "Good luck," at her.

When she faces Walsh again, she cuts off his "What the hell, Emma?" and shuts him up completely. "That's the first time you spoke a word to me in almost an hour –" he tries to get a word in, but "– just go home, Walsh."

His mouth is left hanging, but she doesn't wait for him to leave before she turns back to Irish, a huge smile she can't help contain evident on her lips that's matched with his.

"Hi, I'm Emma," she holds her hand out, seeming far more confident than she really feels. His smile is wide and his eyes crinkle at the corners when he takes her hand in his and shakes it. His stare pierces through her and fuck, are those eyes are blue.

In under an hour, she's managed to drag her (now ex)boyfriend to a game, be ignored throughout said game, meet Irish, kiss Irish, break up with boyfriend and boy, she doesn't regret anything – not when her hand is still in his and his eyes are still on her.

"Killian," he grins, "But I think I quite like 'Irish'."

Well, fuck.

-/-


	9. a breakfast for kings

_eating in the same diner every morning and the waitress ALWAYS mixes up our orders so why don't we just sit at the same table to save her the trouble_

-/-

It isn't the first time – _no_, not even the second, but the _fourth_ time that this has happened. And she knows for a fact, that this is no coincidence – she'd known it from the moment it had begun happening – that this little mix up that's been happening is _purely_ out of the doing of the devil.

Rue the day Emma told Ruby that the single other regular of the diner she frequents for breakfast is mildly attractive – for since that unfortunate morning, her friend has been trying to set them up with the most ridiculous of ploys – her favourite one being _accidentally _mixing up their orders.

Given the fact that their choice of breakfast foods differ _vastly _(hers being pancakes with (free of charge) strawberries on her whip cream, sidelined with hot chocolate and cinnamon topped onto it; his being eggs benedict with two extra strips of bacon placed on the sides to make a (corny) smiley face (that she notices he oh so enjoys), quenched with _very _black coffee she had the misfortune of having a sip of) the chances of these little mix ups being accident is microscopic.

It's the same every time – Ruby will place his plate in front of her, and hers before him, resulting in the unamused glare Emma shoots towards her, which is then followed by Ruby faking a (_convincing_) apologetic look as she swaps the meals back.

He doesn't complain – the handsome stranger who'd she had recently found out is named Killian and is British (_fuck_) from overhearing his conversation with Granny, accent thick and strong as if straight off the boat – never once showing a glimpse of impatience or annoyance. And for that, she salutes him for his show of patience. God (and any one of her friends) knows had a waitress _actually _mixed up her food with someone else's, she would _not _be a happy customer.

Every morning, he sits on the table in the corner of the diner, the table meant for two but the single other seat is used for with briefcase; whilst she sits by the counter, making it far easier to talk to (and be teased by) Ruby.

This time, instead of his usual spot, he opts for the stools by the counter, four seats from her right. She convinces herself that it's because Gary from two blocks down (she knows because that's all he ever tells anyone) has taken the table near his and though he doesn't strike her as the arrogant type, she forces herself to believe this.

She doesn't miss the way Ruby wiggles her eyebrows suggestively at the gesture – nor does her foot miss Ruby's shin as she passes by. And for the first time, she actually gets a good look at him, and _boy _was she not wrong about the attractiveness of the man with a scruffy face and blue, _blue_ eyes. So when he shines a smile at her – a short, greeting type of smile – she freezes for exactly two seconds before replying with a stiff one in return.

Trying not to seem like a stalker ogling him, she busies herself with typing empty words into her phone (_"Smooth," Ruby whispers when she makes her way back – a jest that Emma chooses to ignore_) hoping not to look pathetic as she awaits her staple breakfast.

And when _the _food comes (yes, _the – _not _her_ – _Goddamnit Ruby_), she holds her breath, cringing at how this time, the handsome regular sits close enough for them to switch foods easily. She peeks at him, seeing the silent laugh that's on his face, the way he chuckles quietly while looking down at his meal.

"_Oh_," Ruby reappears from behind the swinging door, her mouth forming an 'O' too overly, "I can't believe I did that again. I'm sorry, I'll—"

"No harm done, lass," she's cut off by him, his hand held out and Ruby stops in her (faked) attempt to help.

_God, god, god – what does she do?_

She's completely aware of how her mouth hangs ajar, eyes wide and body frozen as he picks up the plate and the rest of his belongings, and slides them down – _four spaces to his left_.

"I reckon this'll be easier for our dear Ruby to get our orders correct," he jokes and damn him for trying to be smooth and what not.

Because right now, with her mouth hanging half open, she is anything but smooth.

_Oh God. _

She hadn't realized how close the stools are placed to each other, and now he's so awfully near that she can actually smell the faint scent of cologne on him.

"Do you mind?" he asks, effectively pulling her out of the trance his proximity has pulled her into. He's pointing at his food, and she nods profusely. He swaps the plates wordlessly, though a smile seeming permanent on his lips.

He eats his food quietly, and she too (after a moment's of blankness) begins on hers.

It's silent – a comfortable silence that shouldn't be felt between strangers – for a while, until, "'s not healthy," he says with a mouth full.

"Hm?"

When he turns, he's swallowing the English muffin, and she doesn't bother lying to herself about the fact that she watches as his Adam's apple bobs. "Eating pancakes everyday," his answer is casual, the way he wipes his mouth with the napkin amplifying the effect.

"Coming from the guy who eats bacon every morning?"

"At least _my_ whole meal isn't based on sugar."

"Because the fats and oils are so much better?" she throws back, and he responds in an amused smile.

"Tie?" his eyebrow rises as his hand is held out in mutual agreement. She takes it carefully, shaking it loosely. "I'm Killian," he introduces (not like Emma doesn't already know that – _oh god she seems like a stalker_)

"Emma," she introduces, and _damn it_, she can already see Ruby's triumphant grin as she watches from god knows where.

She doesn't notice the way her hand is still in his (not that she would do anything had she realized) until he breaks the silence that dawns upon them, "Right, well," he lets go of her hand gently, "I've got to catch the bus to work." He smiles, signaling at Ruby as he picks up his things.

Before she can even get there, he drops a 100-dollar bill, gesturing at both Emma's and his plates before he sends them one last smile and turns to leave, the door jingling behind in his wake.

She doesn't even get to say anything – not a refusal, not a thank you before he's gone and she's just left frozen like an idiot.

"I would be poor if it weren't for the handsome British men lining up at your door, getting to you by tipping me, my dear Emma," she waves the single note in victory, an all too-pleased grin plastered to her face.

When she finally comes back to herself, her delayed response is an eye roll, though there's barely any fire behind it. She can even feel her face only now (thank God) heating up, and by the look her friend gives her, she already knows how deep her blush must be.

"Shut up," is all she says before she storms out, Ruby's _'oh, come on, Emma!'_s trailing behind her as the door shuts after her.

-/-

(Later, when they've made a deal that should transcend their friendship for it to never be spoken of again, she texts Ruby a shy _thank you_, to which is replied by with a message containing only 10 numbers and a smiley face)

(_Fucking Ruby_)

-/-

Just when she's having second thoughts about sending him the text (a simple and straight forward: **_hey, this is emma. thanks for the breakfast this morning_**), he beats her to it, and as much as she tells herself Ruby's meddling is a nuisance, she wouldn't be sitting in her room smiling like an idiot at the message that's come through.

(God knows where she would be – probably just staring from the booth in the corner of the diner squinting her eyes at the man with eyes as blue as the sky and a jawline that could possibly cut— and she just shudders at the thought of it)

_Hey, it's Killian from Granny's here_

**_hey killian from Granny's_**, she types and sends before she has time to realize how stupid it was.

**_oh god, i'm sorry_**

**_let me start again_**

**_hey_**

**_(lets pretend i'm cool)_**

She cringes at her words. The dapper, always-in-work-attire (who the hell wears a three piece suit _everyday _to the office anyway?) man is probably shaking his head at how dorky she is.

_I find you quite endearing, if you ask me. _

_But that's just asking me – ask the next guy, and he'd probably think you're a mad woman_

**_you think you're so funny Jones_**

Shit. She hadn't realized that—

_Ah, so you know my last name, yet I don't have the privilege to know yours _

She can't help the laugh when she reads his message. He's so… _British_, that it even shows through virtual conversation.

**_Swan_**

_Panther_

**_what?_**

_Oh? I thought we were telling each other our favourite animals?_

_No?_

**_you're an idiot_**

_It's nice to meet you Emma Swan._

There's a fluttering in her stomach when he replies with that, and screw him for having so much charm, because honestly it's not fair. Not once in the twenty eight years she's lived has she ever had _butterflies _and here comes this guy who sidles up next to her in a diner and texts her far too adorable to be real messages, making her actually flush at his words.

_It's late – I best sleep if I'm going to be able to wake up early enough to catch breakfast._

_Goodnight Swan_

_See you tomorrow?_

**_night, killian – see you tomorrow_**

-/-

(If asked, she'll never admit to her mind doing a little victory dance when she doesn't mess up the goodbye)

(Well, that's not true. Ruby asks – she tells)

-/-

(She sees him the next morning and he doesn't even hesitate before taking the seat beside her and it seems that both od them can't hide the smiles on their faces)

(Just for old time's sake – or so she says – Ruby swaps their plates, the delighted smirk from the day before seeming to refuse to vanish, still on her lips, but Killian just laughs and _boy_ does his eyes twinkle when he laughs)

(They talk about menial things – the basics to getting to know a person – she finds out he works in corporate (which explains the suit, not that she minds) and she tells him that she's a bails bondsperson and he doesn't even look remotely shocked, nor does he ask _why bails bonds? Isn't that a male dominant job?_ and she feels like she may like him a bit more)

-/-

(They meet the next day too – texting most of time the day before, and the cycle continues for two weeks before (thanks to much a push from her good ol' wingman) he finally plucks up the courage to ask her out – and thank god he did because if he waited just another day, she would've caved in this game of cat and mouse, and just asked him out herself)

-/-

(Three weeks into dating, Ruby switches their plates again (_last time, I promise_) and they decide _not _to exchange them back. He tries her 'glutinous' pancakes and she eats his oil soaked bacon. He tells her she'll get diabetes, and she warns him he'll get fat, but when the next morning rolls along, they find themselves picking off each other's food)

(Her friend smirks knowingly from the corner back of the counter, and when they finally leave to get to work, Emma makes sure to leave a bigger tip—

As well as the number of one Victor Whale from the police station, topped off with a smiley face)

(They decide to call it even)

-/-


	10. neighbours for a week

House sitting turns out to be much more fun than she'd expected. With the way they'd apologized profusely for asking this of her, she'd braced herself for far worse.

It was nice – the not being awoken by sounds from the subway in the dead of night was a good change, and for the first time in months, she'd gotten a full night's rest. It was basically a free stay in a comfortable apartment, with an abundant amount of food source (not that she's actually going to _make _food – come on, take out _always _wins) and a pretty cozy bathtub to soak herself in after a day of chasing down bail jumping assholes, the only down side being caring for Mary Margaret's ridiculous(ly beautiful) orchids, and _not _to forget hers and David's Satan of a feline.

(She doesn't know what she's got against her, but the cat practically hisses at Emma the moment she gets remotely close to her. But _of course _when David's around, the little shit is an angel - with loud purrs and large eyes, the Persian manages to convince David that there's no such foul play.)

But besides _that_, it's been good.

So when she gets back, just narrowly managing to pour the kibble into Sandy's bowl (such a sweet name, for such a demonic thing) without having her eyes clawed, she runs the bath, hurrying back to her current room for her book because _God, _does she _need _a soak. It was a rough day and all for nothing – given her perp gave _her _a run for her money, which in the end, she did _not _get, by the way. So right now, a long, hot bath is exactly what is needed.

On the way back towards her watery escape, she hears the sound of keys scraping against the lock, the chime of metal against metal a warning to her ears.

David and Mary Margaret aren't due back for _at least _another 6 days and the chances of their trip being cut short is slim.

She's stripped down – clothes lying haphazardly on the cool tile floor, wrapped up in a soft robe – and the first thing her mind jumps to is her gun that lays on the counter next to her jacket.

There's a good ten feet to the counter, and the intruder could enter at any given second, but she's fast and trained and agile, reaching the gun before the _click _of the door sounds and she's ready, gun pointed and finger at the trigger as the door creeks open and—

Dark hair appears from behind the door, and when he closes it behind him, he turns, and she—

"Bloody _fuck!_" his arms shoot up in surprise, wide blue eyes shocked as his lips curse at her barrel being pointed at his face.

"Who the fuck are you?!" she jerks the gun at him and he stumbles backwards. She knows how she looks – this just below 5'5 woman with blonde hair, wrapped up in a fluffy robe, pointing a glock bounds to look ridiculous, but looks are deceiving and she knows what she's doing, and this guy's been warned.

(She also knows that there aren't any bullets loaded, given that the magazine lies quietly on the counter behind her)

He stutters his words, recovering from the initial shock of having a gun pointed at him, "I- I'm Killian Jones—"

"I don't _care_ what your name is! What the fuck are you doing in here?" She jabs the gun at him, causing him to stagger into the shelf. "If you've come to rob this place, you've chosen the wrong house, asshole," she threatens, her jaw clenching at that, in hopes to look at least _a little _bit more intimidating, given what she's wearing may throw the intended effect off.

"Do I _look_ like a robber?!" He gestures wildly at his body, "I'm _pretty sure _robbers dress in all black with beanies or goddamn fishnet stockings on their heads!"

"Well, _I don't know! _You could—" and now that she has the chance, he does _not _look like a robber. Dressed in a navy blue coat, he wears a grey scarf, wrapped snuggly around his neck while he dons light khakis. She gives him a once over, following where his hands had led her eyes to, and she finally drags them up to his face. And _boy, _it's quite a face. With light eyes contrasting dark hair, a trail of three-day stubble litters his sharp jawline. His jaw clenches and his eyebrow arches (_are guys even allowed to have perfect eyebrows?_), and shit, she may have jumped the gun (_figuratively_ – because she _has literally_ jumped the gun already). But she's never been one to back down easily. So when her hand shows indecision, she covers up the falter, her grip on the handle tighter as she raises her hold just a tad bit higher. "You could still be a robber when dressed like that."

He chuckles at that, straightening up and folding his arms, not caring at the way her hands follow his movements. "Would a robber have a key?"

"I—You could be—"

He saves her the trouble of embarrassing herself with coming up with ridiculous reasons behind him having a key. "David made me check in on Sandy and the plants," he explains plainly.

His answer is simple and she's pretty sure it's the truth, so she grudgingly lowers the aim she has at him.

"And what are _you_ doing here?"

"_I _was made in charge of the flowers and that damn Persian," she says, sounding far more childish than she'd hoped.

He scoffs, "And by the way you speak of the orchids and _Sandy_, I assume they're _not _in good hands."

He makes a move in the direction to the large window where the orchids are perched, but she inserts herself in front of him, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

He raises an eyebrow at her in question. "You could just be a really good liar."

"Trust me, love, I'd never lie to you," he smirks before making a move, and yet again being stopped by her the palm of her hand pushing against his chest.

"Well, _I don't _trust you."

"Fine – call David."

"_Fine_, I _will_."

"Good."

"Great."

-/-

Turns out, it had 'slipped his mind' in telling her that he'd gotten back up for his pets and pots – _just in case_ they'd come home to dead flowers and a starving cat.

(She doesn't blame him – she's never been good with the whole flora and fauna business. Once, she'd actually managed to kill her cactus – and since then, she never really bothered trying)

The not-robber (_Killian_, he'd reintroduced himself) smirks through the whole call, not forgetting to describe Emma as the _'blonde lady that held me at gun point for a good five minutes' _to David, to which he laughs and thanks Emma for protecting his place well.

And so when the long beep of the call ending is heard, she grimaces at the fact that she has to _apologize _for wrongfully threatening him.

But when she does mumble out a _'sorry for almost shooting you'_ under her breath, he takes it gracefully. "No harm, no foul," he bows his head, moving towards the flowers.

She watches in quiet awe as he completes his task, and she's amazed at the gentleness in his hands and how he prunes carefully, at the way he sprays the water softly. She steps back, leaning on perched arms on the counter, gazing at him while he adjusts and fixes.

When he peeks, her eyes fall to the screen in her hand, making her eyes skim aimlessly through a timeline she doesn't care much for.

He's done in under ten minutes, she presumes, barely paying attention to the seconds that tick by when her eyes trail the tender touch he holds. And with good timing, Sandy appears from God knows where (_probably from one of the corners of hell, since that's where she belongs_, Emma thinks grudgingly, and almost as if she _knows_, yellow eyes glare back at her), rubbing her body against his leg. She can practically _hear_ her purring, and this cat really is evil –_only _if someone else would notice it too.

"Sandy, my darlin'!" Killian grins as he bends to pick her up, and Emma can't help the snicker that escapes her lips from the way he _tried _to impersonate the accent.

"Nope," she shakes her head, "You wouldn't make a good Danny Zuko."

"No?" he challenges, placing Sandy back down on all fours with three departing strokes against soft (she's only _assuming _it's soft, given that she's never actually been allowed to pat her) fur. He brushes the orange hairs off him, stepping toward her as he dusts his hands off on his trousers. "But I bet I could make _your _summer nights worthwhile."

She couldn't get a word out even if she wanted to – not with the way his blue eyes stared into her green ones. But _no_, she had _not _gone red. No way is she getting flushed at one playful flirt and extremely light, piercing eyes and a sharp jaw with a smirk she wants to wipe off with her own—

"You blush quite deeply, don't you, lass?" he says and his eyes flicker down to her chest for just the shortest of seconds and her mouth snaps open at that, but before she can even push him out, he dashes away, disappearing behind the door that shuts with a _thump _after him, not forgetting the lingering smirk he's left with.

-/-

He knocks on the door the next time he comes around two days later.

Wearing a large grin, he looks her up and down. "I see you've decided to put on some clothes this time?"

She rolls her eyes, but moves aside for him to enter, pushing the door shut after him. He's in different attire now, grey plaid with the first few buttons left opened, revealing a white shirt beneath. Before, she never really saw the appeal in plaid-shirted men, but with the way he rolls up the sleeve up till his elbows, displaying a toned forearm, she _completely _understands the attraction.

"I brought us some food," he holds up two bags of Chinese food, matched with a bright smile on his face. He says it like this night was planned, like they were friends and this was their weekly hangout night. "Figure it'll give you something else to do besides ogle at me." And there goes the smile, in replace with a smirk.

She snatches the bags from him, making sure to do this before jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow, plopping herself down on the couch with a pleased grin at his grimace.

She doesn't bother waiting for him, and from the corner of her eye, she sees that from the grin on his face, he knows it too. And so she presses play, crosses her legs and digs into the free of charge General Tso's Chicken. He disappears for a while, and her radars go off the charts telling her he's brought Sandy to join them.

"I don't get why you don't like her," he says with the devil itself in his arms, as he settles himself onto the couch adjacent to her. "She's such an angel," he coos, letting Sandy rest on his chest.

Eyeing him from the side, she scoffs, stuffing another piece of chicken in her mouth, "_It_ is the spawn of Satan – if not Satan himself."

"You don't need to hear this," he babies, stroking her a few more times before lifting her down to the carpeted floor for her to scurry away (shooting glares at Emma on her way out). "So, what're we watching?" he inquires, stretching to reach the food.

"_I_ am watching Black Sails."

"Tried an episode – not sure if it's my thing," he added shrugging.

"Do you like pirates?" He nods. "Action?" Another nod. "Boobs?" After a raised eyebrow and a curious look, he eventually nods. "Then you'll love it."

He chuckles to himself, shaking his head ever so slightly while the corner of his eyes crinkle and _Goddamn it, _it may just be the cutest thing she's ever seen. "You run a good campaign."

They watch in comfortable silence, and it's just then when she realizes she barely knows the guy. She knows exactly three things about him – _one_. he's good with plants, _two_. he's David and Mary Margaret's neighbour, and _three_. he likes boobs - and yet there are people that she's known for years that she's less comfortable with. Maybe it's due to the fact that David tells her he's a good guy (and as much as she'd hate to admit it, his opinion matters to her because it's never once steered her wrong), or maybe it's just that she feels _safe _with him, almost as though she's known him for a while.

"So, are you going to explain why you're so good with plants?" she asks a little while later, refusing to look at him at the question, her eyes still very much stuck to the screen. The stare flickers when she sees from the corner of her eye that he's cocked his head, eyebrow arched at her.

Then he turns back to the screen, "I don't know," he shrugs and _damn it_, she really sucks at keeping her eyes focused on the tv. "Worked in my mum's shop as a teen and helped out with the orchids – guess it stuck."

She hums a reply, and he bobs his head at that, eyes undecided between the show and Emma.

He props himself up on the back of the couch, "And you?" he nods at her.

"Hm?" she says, tilting her head toward him.

"What are you? A spy? FBI? Or just making full use of your rights as an American citizen?"

She narrows her eyes, eyebrow arching at him until, "_Ah, the gun,_" it clicks, and she can't help the small chuckle that escapes her lips. "Bails bonds," she answers and he makes a sort of _huh_ sound. "What?"

"Nothing," he shakes his head. "I figured FBI, but bails bonds suits you, I guess," he shrugs.

She throws him a small smile, unsure really what to reply to that with. After turning her attentions back towards the screen, she can still feel his eyes on her, the blue stare burning into her almost palpable.

"You going to watch the show or me?" She doesn't bother turning to say it, and at the smile he tries to contain, he focuses back towards the television.

Several fights ensue and many more tits hang out before he speaks again.

"She's pretty," he nods at the screen when Eleanor Guthrie appears in the scene, "Kinda reminds me of you," he remarks and _fuck _she does _not _know what she's supposed to do with that.

And so she does what she does best: she scoffs. "Shut up and just watch the show will you, flower boy?"

And with this, she tilts her head ever so slightly so he can't see the idiotic grin she can't seem to get off her face.

-/-

**_killian asked if you were single_**

_and?_

**_what do you mean 'and'?_**

_well what did you say?_

**_I said that I didn't know_**

**_what did you want me to say?_**

_I mean_

_yeah, I don't know is good_

**_you like him_**

_I do not_

**_oh, so you don't want to know what he said about you?_**

_nope_

_wait_

_like_

_good things?_

_what did he say?_

_mary margaret don't you dare leave this conversation now_

_I hate you_

-/-

David and Mary Margaret are coming home in a day's time and she has to admit – she's going to miss their place. And _no_, it has nothing to do with the fact that they have a _very _handsome neighbour – and more of the security of the building and the quality of the bathtub and the closeness to the city and _definitely _not because of one Killian Jones.

But when he does show up that night to water the plants (_"Every five days, Emma – remember that"_), she welcomes his company warmly.

Although unlikely, this could rightly be the last time she sees him and while he's technically a stranger, she's kind of already attached (_which only screams to her **Bad News**_).

He doesn't stay for long, waiting around for a bit before he takes off, giving Emma an awkward one-arm hug with a 'So, see you around?' before he leaves.

She doesn't bother lying to herself about the smile that refuses to leave once he has, but she refuses to believe that after almost thirty years, that a guy has managed to make her feel like a teenaged girl with a crush.

But she finds that she likes the way he makes her feel and that maybe it's alright to like someone after such a long time of avoiding feelings.

And it's also a pretty good thing that he's a pretty decent guy to have feelings for, so it's not _that _bad.

-/-

Naturally, when Mary Margaret invites her to hang out with the newly weds, Emma suggests that they do it at their place—_only_ because it's been a long day, _and_ she's awfully tired and doesn't _really_ feel like going out, and because her place is a _mess_ and, well, since she's _already_ in the neighbourhood… why not?

She also naturally ignores her friend's knowing _'mhm' _from the end of the line, promptly ending the call before she'd have to come up with some ridiculous reason as to why it's _not _because of their friendly British neighbour.

And _no, _the reason behind why she actually looks _decent _for once (instead of her usual black attire for stakeouts) is _only_ because there was a miscommunication between her and her boss and she'd _sworn _she heard her say that the date she's supposed to go on to catch her perp was today and not tomorrow.

And when Emma is told that Killian is not in town for God knows what convention (_what does he do, anyway?_), she masks the tinge of disappointment at the now completely unlikely chance of seeing him with a nonchalant shrug.

But still when they're done with dinner and Mary Margaret pulls her aside to '_help with dessert' _(even though all three of them know that there really _is _no dessert)_,_ she _kind of_ foresaw this coming.

"Oh my god, you _really _like him, don't you?"

"What?"

"What's with all this- this… _effort!_" she gestures up and down at Emma.

Her eyes narrow at that, "Okay, I'm _not _going to take that personally—"

"You should have just told me!" She pokes her in the shoulder and Emma jerks her head back, unsure really how to handle this situation. "If you really like him, I could—"

"Who does Emma really like?" David comes walking in, an apple with a bite missing in hand.

It's adorable really how naïve _the Nolans_ are (a term that Mary Margaret can't get enough of, and quite frankly, even Emma finds it adorable), because even _she _knew how _un_subtle she was being about the whole thing – had it been Ruby who'd witnessed the mess of an act she'd put up, the woman would've probably already slipped Killian Emma's number with one of those tricks she always seems to have up her sleeves (–and _this _is why Ruby is Emma's wingman and _not _Mary Margaret).

"No one," "Why, Killian!" both women say at the same time and for a moment Emma just prays that she was louder than her friend.

If there's anything she hates more in the world is when David snaps into his big-brother role, threatening any man that's in a 10-foot radius of Emma. Then again, he's never led her astray – all the men he'd warned her about ended up being total jerks, and naturally are all the men she's ever dated. And at by way his eyes are blown wide, how his mouth hangs ajar – it doesn't look like good news.

"You mean," he lifts his vacant hand and points limply outside (which she assumes is the direction of Killian's apartment), "_that_ Killian?"

"Yes, honey, and don't start getting—"

"Emma, you can't!" David interrupts with an exasperated look on his face.

_And here goes, _Emma thinks, letting out a long sigh, mentally preparing herself for the reasons as to _why_ she shouldn't go for it – that he's actually a player, or that he's a momma's boy, or the fact that he's really a serial killer and has been threatening them to cover up for him. "He- he's—"

"David James Nolan," his wife cuts him short, effectively forcing him to leave the sentence hanging. And she's _sure _that this is her friend backing her up, telling him to stop being so controlling and that Emma can handle herself or something of the sort. But instead— "You're doing it again!"

"Doing what?"

"You know exactly what you're doing!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!"

"You really want me to say it?"

"_Yes_," Emma and David say together, her sounding more irritated than him and _finally_ the couple notices they're not alone in the kitchen.

"He's cockblocking!"

Well—

She did _not_ expect to hear _that_.

_"Excuse me?_"

Mary Margaret nods fervently, "Yeah! He did it last time too—"

"I did _not!"_

"—when Aurora from the office asked about him! You made him sound like a _complete _jerk, so she wouldn't go near him!"

And honestly, they lost her three minutes ago. "Wait, what? Why?" she shakes her head, thinking that maybe this'll clear up the confusion.

(It doesn't, so an explanation would be _much appreciated _right now)

"_Because_," she presses, "David here doesn't want Killian to be bailing on their _bro-time _when he finally gets a girl."

_Oh_.

And she bursts out laughing.

"Wait, wait, wait," she says between trying to catch her breath, "So is _this _why I've never heard of him before? Even though he'd _told _me that you guys were good _mates_?"

And honestly, she doesn't see any other reaction than her own – at the quiet look David has retreated to and the new fact that he was insecure about his bromance with Killian, she can _only _see the scene ending in fits of laughs on her part.

At that, Mary Margaret raises an eyebrow at her husband, and by the way his jaw clenches, she knows which one of them has won the argument.

"I mean, I just want— _ugh_, I'll give him your number," he caves as he steps back, knowing he's lost this battle.

And even when he's no longer in sight, she can't help her labored breaths or her teary eyes, and _come on_ – it's funny.

Even Mary Margaret cracks a smile after a while, her soft, teasing smile reaching up to her eyes.

"He's a great guy," she takes Emma's hand in hers once the laughter's died down. "And if you like him and if it actually matters – I approve," she squeezes the hand softly, a sweet smile accompanying it.

"It's barely a crush—"

"I still approve," her expressions are tender as she leans in to hug Emma. "Thanks for taking care of the place, by the way."

"I can _honestly _say that it was my pleasure," Emma resigns.

Mary Margaret's an angel, if she's ever seen one. Much like David, she's always been there for Emma, pulling her up when she needed it, and keeping her grounded when she'd ever get too high. She doesn't quite understand how she's ever been lucky enough to have found them, but there's nothing in this world that she's more grateful for.

"Hey, Mary Margaret?" she calls as she makes move to leave, "Your approval always matters."

-/-

She doesn't actually end up leaving. In the end, she crashes on their couch, because excuses aside, she _did_ have a long day.

So when she leaves their place the next morning, set with a pair of loosely fitted sweatpants supplied by David and a dark jacket from Mary Margaret, she does not quite expect to be bumping into Killian Jones of all people as she's on the way to scurrying out and into her car before anyone sees her.

But then again, she's never been a lucky person.

"Emma?" the familiar accented voice calls after her as their shoulders graze each other's when he just seems to be making his way in.

_Well fuck_, she curses inwardly, but she's not quite sure whether the words slipped out of her lips or not, and _God _does she pray that it didn't. "_Hey_."

"Ravishing as always," he grins wide as he looks her up and down.

She chooses to look over the quip with a short smile and a swift change in subject, "Where from?" she nods at the luggage he drags. And even without the prior information from David and Mary Margaret, she'd have spotted this through the dark eyes and the mussed hair he wears this morning.

"From over the pond, love – fresh out of London," his dimples appear when he says this, deep and _bloody adorable_ – as (she'd assumed) they'd say over there.

"Back so soon?"

He gives her a tired nod, and she's contemplating excusing herself allowing him to sleep the fatigue off. "It was kind of an impromptu thing, so the plan was to go to the conference and then surprise my brother and his family over at their place and ultimately, crash there. Turns out, my dear brother had forgotten to mention that they were in fact out of town visiting Cornwall." At her rueful look, he nods, "Yeah, so I caught the first flight back."

"Well, you've got to be tired – I should let you unpack and rest."

"Wait," he calls just after she brushes past him, _trying _to make a quick exit so she doesn't have to stand across from a very handsome man looking like she'd just ran a mile _and _be mugged. "Do you want to grab some food with me sometime?"

And while him asking her out was quite surprising, her answer definitely wasn't.

-/-

Turns out, '_sometime_' happened to be '_right after I drop my bags home_' which meant _right now_. Despite several protests, - "_I look like I've just sat on my ass for the past month and not showered!" "Come on, you look great," -_ she finally gives in.

(After all, who can refuse those god-blessed eyes? What more when he goes full puppy mode? In conclusion, she looses all sense of restraint when it comes to him and she _barely _knows the guy.)

But over breakfast she gets to know him some more, and from what she hears, she wasn't wrong in liking him. He's a lawyer, he tells her, and the convention he went to was some _Protection of the Ozone Layer _thing and well, shit, he's an environmental lawyer of some sort, (and she guesses it does makes sense– given his little backstory on how his mother was a florist and how he genuinely looks like he cares when he waters Mary Margaret's plants) and now she has the sudden urge to ditch her car and start cycling everywhere. She finds out his brother's name is Liam and that he has two kids with his wife, and that those children are adorable (he shows her _many, many_ pictures of them) and he used to live with them before he moved here.

She kind of likes that he speaks with a passion – how his eyes light up and how he gestures animatedly with his hands – and that he sincerely listens to her when she speaks. She quite likes the small smile that plays on the edge of his lips when she talks, and the smirk that appears when he makes a flirty comment, and especially the grin he tries holding back when she retaliates.

She doesn't know how and why she'd come to like him so quickly, but she just does. And usually, it'd have scared the shit out of her and she'd have taken the first route out, but for once, she's allowing herself to actually like him and she's pretty glad that she has.

They talk for longer than expected, the lunch crowd fleeting into the diner and it's then when she says that she really should go before they bump into someone she knows whilst looking like a mess, he offers to walk her to her car.

(Technically, he offered to walk her home, but _home _is half the city away, so they're resigned to a stroll to her VW)

While it very much _felt _like a date (Hell, that breakfast-made-brunch-turned-lunch made a better date than most of her _actual _dates did), it doesn't at the same time. And when he _doesn't _kiss her at her car, _not-a-date _wins another point. But when he asks if she'd go out with him again, (_"Like maybe tonight?"_) she can't help the giddiness that runs through her.

He asks her for number and she digs out her name card from the glove box of her car (_she literally had to dig it out, given her car's a complete _mess) before clumsily handing it to him. He grins all the while she fumbles in the search of the elusive contact details, and shit, she thinks that he may just like her back.

(He does.)

(_A lot.)_

-/-

Dating isn't like she remembers.

It's harder.

Especially when you're dating a man who actually has opinions and isn't afraid to speak out against her, you'll tend to end up arguing more often than not. _Especially_ when you put two strong-headed people next to each other, both of whom refuse to back down and let the other win.

So there are many nights where she storms out of his apartment in the middle of the night (_and ends up crashing at the Nolans_) or when he chooses to sleep on her couch instead of with her (_but in the end, at three or four in the morning, he'd crawl back into bed – grudgingly, mind you – with his back turned towards her and a clear 'I'm not sorry – that couch was bloody uncomfortable' for her to hear)_.

But at the same time it's easier like this. She likes that they fight and that they're free to speak their mind and have that opinion be challenged. And she also likes when he makes her breakfast the morning after, making sure to state that this is _not _him giving in ("_Just to be clear, this _isn't _an apology._") or how he accepts her murmuring _not-sorry_s against his skin.

And the next time he has to go to London, he brings her, and she finally meets his family in the flesh (as opposed to simply talking to them on Skype) and those kids really are precious.

(_They tell her she looks like a princess, and Killian nods, "Aye, my princess," and while it's corny as hell, her heart flutters at the words.)_

And when Thanksgiving rolls around, he follows her back to Maine to meet her family and _screw him_ for being so good with parents.

It's four months into their relationship while they're lying in her childhood bedroom, squished together on her pink-sheeted single bed, when she tells him she loves him.

(It _was_ two months when he'd accidentally blurted it out in a heated argument on who _really _belonged on the Iron Throne.)

She'd known for longer, of course, but it took her a while more to finally admit it. And when she does, he breaks out in a huge smile.

He kisses her hard with her face in his hands, their bodies flushed together as their lips move against the other. When he draws back, he whispers it against her lips.

_Nope, not _an _I love you too._

Instead, set with that stupid pleased grin of his, "I guess you're not _too_ bad."

And with that, she jabs him in the side. _Hard._

-/-

When David and Mary Margaret decide they need a bigger place, given she's already five months pregnant, they choose to rent the place out. And Emma sees this as an opportunity to take another step in their relationship without having to move in together.

And much like the first time they met, they were neighbours.

Until they weren't.

It takes 6 days to realize how stupid it was, and for Emma to call up her friends telling them they'd have to look for someone new to rent the place. A day later, all her things that barely even made it out of their boxes are being moved across the hall with Killian and his plants and his Nat Geo magazines and _him_.

And that night, when they're settled into _their_ bed, she doesn't know why they didn't do this sooner.

-/-

(And when he proposes four months later, she says _yes_ through teary eyes and trembling lips, followed by a show of shaky hands when he slips the ring onto her finger and then a shaking bed (which goes on for much of the night) and a happy (_to put it in one word_) life.)

(But that's only until later, and – _meh_, it's not really _that_ important.)


End file.
